Pride of the Powerful
by The Kujaku
Summary: A follow-on to The Peacock and Hunting the Slave. Yumichika must learn how to deal with the fact that his zanpakuto is an Atmen, a task complicated by tragic events that put all his relationships to the test.
1. Chapter 1

_**Dear Reader, I'm back with what will probably be the last installment in this story (who knows, I'm quite fickle, after all). "Pride" will return our characters to more familiar settings, and I hope you will enjoy. This first chapter just sort of sets the scene and recaps where they all stand at the moment. The action will start soon enough. Peace, TK**_

Chapter 1 The Sound of Thunder

" _You're here today, no future fears.  
_ _This day will last a thousand years.  
_ _If you want it to."_

 _Dawn is a Feeling  
_ Justin Hayward

A storm was approaching.

The sounds of thunder echoed off the mountains to the north and rolled up the valley like slow moving waves; and in their rumbling progress, they contained the dichotic qualities of calm and threat, an aural balm both soothing and anticipatory.

Late summer storms on the mountain were nothing to be sneered at or shrugged off as insignificant. They were violent, aggressive things, bringing mudslides, fallen trees, and flooded mountain streams with them.

Yet, Yumichika welcomed such tempests with excited contentment.

In his bed, staring up into the suffused darkness – the night candles were almost burned out, indicating it was closer to morning than midnight – he listened with rapt attention. Judging from the fact that he could not see the lightning that preceded each peal, he determined the storm was still an hour away – perhaps two. That was good. It meant he had that much time to enjoy the prospect of encroaching power.

He felt a slight movement against his chest and smiled reflexively. Looking down, his gaze fell upon Ruri'iro Kujaku, stretched out asleep on top of him, his cheek resting warmly in the center of his chest. In the failing candlelight, the dark blue hair—still barely an inch long but already starting to show its curl and fullness—appeared black with the luster of onyx. There were still bare patches, but they were healing. His other injuries were less visible, for he wore a shift of white cotton—very sheer—that draped over his body in a way that Yumichika considered too enticing; yet, even as master, he'd not insisted on something a bit less revealing for his zanpakuto spirit, for the simple fact that Ruri'iro Kujaku had, after his fashion, wanted to wear nothing at all. Yumichika had managed to stand firm enough in asserting that it simply was not appropriate for him to show himself in such a manner in the presence of others. And so master and Atmen had come to a much debated compromise that the shift would suffice – for the time-being, at least.

He brushed his fingertips against Ruri'iro Kujaku's shoulder – a gesture that was met with words.

"I hear thunder." The peacock's voice was soft and expressive, like that of a child waking from a dream.

"A storm's coming," Yumichika replied quietly. "It's still a way's off, but it sounds like it's going to be a big one."

"I like big storms," Ruri'iro Kujaku stated.

"So do I," came the agreement.

"You know what I like? Peace and quiet so I can sleep."

This was Ikkaku's voice – an irritated growl.

Yumichika smiled unseen and chastised, "Grumpy."

"I have reason to be. Between the thunder and you two, how's a man supposed to get any sleep? You're a pair of hens."

Yumichika passed on the urge to make clucking sounds. Instead, he retorted good-naturedly, "I've suffered through your abominable snoring for centuries. Do you really want to make an issue of this?"

"I'd get a better night's sleep slinging a hammock between the trees," Ikkaku grumbled.

"Well, you're more than welcome to try your luck tonight," Yumichika poked. "I'll be glad to come wring you out in the morning . . . if you're not blown away by the wind."

Ikkaku cast a wry grin into the darkness.

" _Wring you out . . . "_

Maybe it was the late hour, but a certain bawdiness played with those words in his mind, and he decidedly liked the sound of it. Even though he knew very well that Yumichika, after the horrors and degradations he'd suffered in Gonow, had moved even further afield from the soul he'd once been, leaving behind the seductive and egotistical self-lover that had long been his most prominent personage, Ikkaku was not fooled for a moment into believing that Yumichika had completely abandoned his love of beauty and desire for attention.

The playful element in Yumichika's soul would allow for an occasional moment of coarseness or even—heaven forbid—vulgarity. That same element appreciated being appreciated. As long as the attention came from the right source, Yumichika would have no complaint.

And perhaps, Ikkaku grudgingly admitted in the silence of his own thoughts, Yumichika might one day retake the mantel of flamboyantly proud narcissist.

"That would beat wringing myself out," Ikkaku replied, hoping to elicit a reaction from his long-time companion.

Yumichika cast a wistful eye on him across the filmy indoor night between them. "You're so crass."

But it was Ruri'iro Kujaku who spoke next. "He hasn't changed at all, has he?"

Yumichika chuckled. "Very little."

The silence that followed was filled with meaning, if not words.

How difficult it had been since their return almost six weeks ago. Not that Ikkaku would ever admit it, but Yumichika could read what was left unspoken. Ikkaku had risked everything to save him, and now that they were back, safely installed once more in the cottage above Venla, they'd not had a single moment together in which to take comfort in each other.

It wasn't anyone's fault. They both knew that, and that was why neither could accuse the other of being unfair or unreasonable. Nor could they blame Ruri'iro Kujaku, for the peacock – an Atmen still gravely injured and vulnerable – could do nothing to improve his condition except endure the passage of time.

And it was necessary that Yumichika be fully devoted to him. As Ruri'iro Kujaku was unable to return to either his own or his master's inner world, Yumichika felt responsible for his protection. During the day, he looked after his wounds, helped him get up and move around a bit, and doted over him with pleasure. At night, he insisted they sleep in the same bed, never more than a touch away. And in those undefined moments teetering on the edge of sleep, he tried to grow accustomed to the idea that this helpless creature would not only return to his previous strength but surpass it . . . and what would happen then?

Yumichika was determined that he would be a proper master to him this time. He would show him the love he deserved, but also the discipline and firmness of hand necessary to preclude any sort of aberrant behavior or descent into wickedness, as had befallen others of the kujaku's choir.

All of which was caring and gallant and noble. All of which Ikkaku understood – albeit, with a degree of muffled frustration. But Ikkaku was an even better man than Yumichika had ever realized; for while it was clear that Ikkaku desired time with him, it was equally clear that he was ready to remain on the periphery as Yumichika focused his attention on Ruri'iro Kujaku. Still, the fact of Ikkaku's magnanimous spirit did little to allay Yumichika's yearning for him, his desire to be close and share even one small moment alone between them.

Only his love for Ruri'iro Kujaku made the waiting tolerable.

Ikkaku, on the other hand, waylaid his impatience by keeping company of his own. Hoozukimaru stayed manifest and close at hand most of the waking day – not an easy task, given the dragon's fixed desire to be with Ruri'iro Kujaku. At night, he returned to his zanpakuto form, snug at his master's side in the makeshift bed on the opposite side of the room from where Yumichika and Ruri'iro Kujaku slept.

The situation in the cottage was a somewhat awkward arrangement as far as Ikkaku was concerned, but it could not be helped. Not at the moment.

"Since you're awake," Yumichika posed, "Can I ask you something?"

Ikkaku snorted and harrumphed emphatically before squawking, "What?"

"Can you make sure I tied down the rain water barrels?"

Ikkaku sat up. "Are you kidding me? You want _me_ to get out of bed and go see if _you_ forgot to do what _you_ were supposed to?"

Yumichika was sweet as sugar. "Yes, if you don't mind."

"No way," Ikkaku snapped, flopping back down in the bed and folding his arms tightly over his chest. "I'm tired and I'm going back to sleep."

"But if we have bad winds, they could get picked up and do some damage. You remember last time—"

"You do it."

"I would, but I'm . . . well, I'm a little bit burdened," Yumichika purred. "You can see that, can't you?"

"What? He's awake. He can get off you for five minutes, can't he?"

Yumichika pouted in the darkness. "You heard him, kimi. I need to get up."

Ruri'iro Kujaku complied, slowly and with a fair amount of wincing and groaning, but he did not protest or complain. He lay in the bed and watched as Yumichika pulled on a light-weight robe over his sleep garment.

"Hurry back to me," the peacock implored as Yumichika opened the door.

Ikkaku moaned. "He's not going any further than the corner of the cottage."

Yumichika defended his zanpakuto. "Leave him alone, Ikkaku. It's nice that he doesn't want me to be away from him."

"Oh, for the love of . . . " Ikkaku rolled out of bed with all the flourish and exasperation of a master actor. "Fine, I'll do it. You know, you two are made for each other."

The small tinge of jealousy that came through in Ikkaku's voice brought a smug grin to Yumichika's face as he retreated from the door. "Thank you, Ikkaku."

Ikkaku stepped out into the mountain night. He was immediately struck by the sight of lightning illuminating the distant clouds. A formidable electrical storm was headed their way. But ahead of it, the night was still calm and clear, and—while not balmy—a pleasantly warm alpine temperature – enough so that the air did not feel cool against the bare skin of his arms and chest. It was so comfortable, in fact, that even after he'd finished tying down the rain barrels, he decided to stay outside a bit longer and enjoy the spectacle of nature approaching.

The solitude also gave him the chance to think about things he'd tried to brush aside when in the presence of Yumichika and Ruri'iro Kujaku; for while they could not read his thoughts, he'd always entertained the fear that Yumichika, at least, could read in his face what was going on in his mind.

And what was going on in his mind at that moment would only cause unproductive concern.

Six weeks had passed since their return to Venla.

Six weeks.

The other personnel who had accompanied him to Gonow in search of Yumichika – members of the Gotei 13 – had all returned to their duties. Certainly, they had given their reports and accounts of what had happened.

And it stood to reason that the council members of Central 46 also now knew of all that had transpired.

Ruri'iro Kujaku's identity as an Atmen could no longer possibly be a secret; nor could his weakened condition. And while others might have feared the attempts by outsiders to manipulate the injured Atmen, Ikkaku's thoughts tended in a much different direction.

Central 46 had never given much quarter to those entities, singular or multitude, that had threatened their absolute stranglehold on power. The Atmen were things of the past, shunned and mistrusted until only a few souls remained cognizant of their continued existence. They'd been given free reign of a part of Soul Society no one else wanted; and now even that had come to an end.

The Central 46 knew of Kennah's demise. They must also know that Ruri'iro Kujaku was the sole remaining member of the Seventh Choir. And as such, he must surely be viewed as a threat to the security of Soul Society – or at least, a threat to the power of the governing body.

But was he a threat worth eliminating?

That was the question that haunted Ikkaku's thoughts, for he knew only too well now, that if Yumichika were to lose Ruri'iro Kujaku, he would never recover from it. Something had changed—for the better, Ikkaku had to admit—between Yumichika and the peacock. And Ikkaku knew that he had to make room for this new relationship if he hoped to keep both Yumichika and Ruri'iro Kujaku safe as they regained their strength.

But who was he keeping them safe from?

His father was still imprisoned in the Seireitei, hopefully providing endless hours of intrigue for Captain Kurotsuchi. The Atmen of Gonow were either defeated or safely under the control of their own masters. Heykibi had been killed by Hoozukimaru. No other fiends came immediately to mind.

It was the Central 46 that would not leave Ikkaku's conscience in peace. He could not even feel guilty for suspecting them. In fact, he was positive that he and Yumichika were under surveillance even now – perhaps not at that precise moment, but on a regular basis. Yamamoto had sent observers to keep an eye on them before Yumichika had been kidnapped. Given the latest developments, it stood to reason he was keeping an even closer eye on them now, with or without direction from Central 46.

Ikkaku could only hope that whoever was assigned to surveil them was friendly and would eventually make themselves known. Attempting to flush them out would be too burdensome, and Ikkaku already had his hands full.

A light-hearted smile found its way thoughtlessly into his expression.

 _Hands full? That's an understatement._

Although the search for Yumichika had taken only eight months, the state of the cottage and its environs upon their return had been deplorable. The winter during which they'd been absent had been brutal and left much damage to an uninhabited structure. Ikkaku spent most of the day working on repairing the place while Yumichika toiled away in the garden, pulling weeds and planting late crops – and all the while, looking after Ruri'iro Kujaku, whose healing process was agonizingly slow.

Or maybe it wasn't really that slow. It just seemed like it, given the amount of energy the peacock had to regain and the lack of knowledge of just how long it took an Atmen to get back to even a modicum of strength . . .

On more than one occasion, Ikkaku had insisted that Hoozukimaru make some of his own energy available to help speed up Ruri'iro Kujaku's recovery. But more often than not, both the dragon and the peacock – and even Yumichika – balked at this idea, saying that it was better for Ruri'iro Kujaku's energy to replenish on its own, rather than taking the energy of others.

" _My energy has its own flavor, its own texture,"_ the peacock had sniffed distastefully. _"The basis of my strength should be my own reiatsu. Once I have enough, then I can take from others."_ He'd said this last sentence with a rather anticipatory lust that had reminded Ikkaku of the peacock of old – and the peacock as he would once more be as soon as he'd regained enough strength to exercise his unique form of power.

And once he regained that level of power, he would be unstoppable.

Except by Yumichika – and even then, only through reason and devotion, not through strength.

It was critical that their master-servant relationship be properly formed this time.

"Damn, how do I end up in situations like this?" Ikkaku growled out loud.

"Like what?"

Ikkaku startled at the sound of Yumichika's voice at the same time that he felt slender arms wrap around his waist from behind.

"Don't sneak up on me like that," he chastised. "You're lucky I didn't take your head off. What are you doing out here? I thought you couldn't bear to leave his side."

"Well, you've been out here a long time," Yumichika answered. "I was getting worried. How long does it take to tie down a couple rain barrels?"

"I haven't been long—"

"Almost thirty minutes," Yumichika countered. "That's a long time, even for you."

Ikkaku was surprised at how long he'd been absorbed in his own thoughts. "I didn't realize it."

"I thought maybe you were angry at me," Yumichika said, drawing him back to sit on the edge of the chopping block and then leaning down from behind to wrap his arms around his neck and shoulders.

"No, I wasn't angry," Ikkaku replied honestly. "I know this is how it has to be. We're, uh, we're dealing with a keg of dynamite."

"Are you talking about you and me or about Ruri'iro Kujaku?" Yumichika asked in a playful voice.

Ikkaku gave a one-sided smirk. "Ruri'iro Kujaku." A pause. "You and me . . . we're just the spark that's going to end up igniting him."

Yumichika turned Ikkaku's head to the side and met his lips in a tender kiss. "I don't think so."

"Then you're delusional," Ikkaku quipped, swinging his legs to the side and putting his hands on narrow width that was Yumichika's waist. "We both know what he is. It's only a matter of time before he gets his strength back, and when that happens . . . you can't afford to make him jealous."

Yumichika looked at him with a gentle, presupposing grin. "Jealous . . . of us." A pause. "Ikkaku, you and I have been together the entire time I've known Ruri'iro Kujaku. He's used to us being together, and besides . . . you and I have a . . . unique relationship. He knows that. Besides, he's changed a lot. So have I." He pressed forward with his hips in an inviting manner. "In time, he'll come to see that my love for him is completely different than my love for you; and he'll accept that. In fact, I think he'll be very . . . content with it."

"In time, maybe," Ikkaku replied. "But what about right now? It's . . . it's weird, Yumichika, looking over and seeing you lying in bed with him, and he . . . he's not a . . . he doesn't, uh, he doesn't hide what he is."

"He's a sensual being," Yumichika stated, as if the matter were that simple. "And I would never want to change that about him. I would never want him to hide that part of who he is." He cast a chastising look at Ikkaku. "Besides, he and I haven't done anything inappropriate. Give me some credit for modesty."

"Modesty?!" Ikkaku almost burst out laughing. "You two can't keep your hands off each other, and . . . and he—he's either lying all over you or kissing you or pulling you down on top of him. Do you think I don't notice that?"

Yumichika pulled him to his feet. "I think _you're_ the one who's jealous."

Ikkaku didn't deny it, but he also did not sound angry as he replied. "I meant what I said, that it's weird to have you two carrying on right next to me; but what makes it so hard is that it reminds me of the fact that you and I haven't had any time together since we got back. Look, I understand how you feel about him. It took you damned long enough to figure it out. Maybe if you two just showed a little less . . . ah, fuck," he concluded, growing uncomfortable with the subject.

Yumichika was placid and honest. "Maybe I'm trying to make up for lost time with him. Normally, I would . . . reserve that kind of intimacy for my inner world, but he can't go there—"

"You don't need to tell me what goes on in your inner world—" Ikkaku interrupted, desperate to be spared any sordid details.

"So . . . why don't we focus on this world? On this moment?" With these words, he placed the palms of both hands against Ikkaku's bare chest and did something he'd not tried in decades, something he was not even sure he had the power to do anymore.

He drew upon his reiatsu.

Scant though it was, a tiny fleck of erotic warmth flowed through his skin and into Ikkaku's body.

The thrill showed on Ikkaku's face. "You . . . still have that ability?"

"It's taken me decades just to have enough energy for that one instant," Yumichika replied. A self-deprecating wisp of a smile crossed his lips. "I hope it had some of its former impact."

Ikkaku answered by wrapping his arms around him and taking him quickly to the ground, where there followed an intense exchange, borne of the separation they had both endured, not only at the hands of those who had ruled Gonow, but also of their own making – the careful paths they had both trod since leaving Venla the first time. The Seireitei, the Gotei 13 – so many things had conspired to tame their passion, while at the same time, preserving their love for each other. Now, it seemed that a moment of rapture was earned and long overdue. Neither man felt guilty for indulging in something that had long run as an undercurrent to their relationship.

The soft and doting accommodation of their previous encounters during what Ikkaku had aptly nicknamed 'the comfortable years' now gave way to something coarse and rough and greedy, teetering on the edge of ravishment but just barely maintained within boundaries long ago established. Both men knew the unspoken limits, and even in the throes of passion, respected them.

For nearly thirty minutes, they kept up the level of intensity, until a cool wind abruptly broke over them – the harbinger of the encroaching storm.

Ikkaku raised his head at the sound of the trees snapping back and forth. "The storm is about to break right on top of us," he warned.

Yumichika was not bothered. "Let it."

"We'll get soaked—"

"I don't care," came the definitive response. "It's been a long time since we've been together like this. I want to feel the way it felt in the orchard. Just a little while longer."

Ikkaku peered down at him. "You still remember that?"

"Of course, I do," Yumichika replied. "Don't you?"

"Of course," Ikkaku acknowledged. "But we're—we're not like that. That's not how our relationship is, and it's never been like that since then. Do you—do you want to go the edge again like that? I know how much that hurt you."

"It hurt me because you left the next day," Yumichika pointed out.

Ikkaku put his hand against Yumichika's flushed cheek. "No, it hurt because you wanted to go further. You thought I was rejecting you."

"I understand why you did it," Yumichika replied. "And I accepted it long ago."

Ikkaku eyed him with questioning eyes. "And . . . what about this time? Last time, I was the one who stopped. What if . . . what if I don't want to stop this time? What will you say? A lot of things have changed since then, Yumichika."

"Are you saying you want to have sex with me?" Yumichika asked bluntly.

Ikkaku threw his head back and groaned. "Enhh! You sure know how to kill a mood!"

"Well, do you?"

Ikkaku turned the question over in his mind. How could such a simple question be so difficult to answer?

Seeing his friend's dilemma, Yumichika turned the question around. "Or let me ask you this: what if _I_ don't want to stop this time?"

Ikkaku pushed up on his knees and sat back on his heels. He regarded Yumichika with curious doubt. Clearly, the question was meant to spur his conscience, and it had done just that. Ikkaku knew only too well that whatever moments of desire might tempt him to abandon his restraint regarding Yumichika, he must never concede to those wants. The years of sublime companionship above Venla – and even most of their time in the Gotei 13 – had been nothing to scoff at, nothing to belittle. His bond with Yumichika had been one of love and devotion, interspersed with the occasional pang of lust—not surprising, given Yumichika's undeniable attractiveness. But romance formed no part of their relationship. The notion had never even managed to peek inside the door.

But Ikkaku would not complain, for he considered what he had with Yumichika to be so much more. He didn't need romance. He didn't need a continual shower of affection. And he didn't even need this moment of physical passion, pleasant though it was. No, he already knew that he possessed just enough of everything to be somewhere on the fringes of heaven. Yumichika provided just the right amount of physical contact, just the right amount of attention and mental stimulation, enjoyable contention, and even a healthy smattering of absurdity. And when Ikkaku thought of all the trials through which Yumichika had emerged relatively unscathed and ever optimistic, he counted himself among the most fortunate of souls; for where else was such a friend to be found?

How much of that resilience belonged to Ruri'iro Kujaku, Ikkaku did not know. But he felt confident that the peacock's own singular strength and energy had much to do with Yumichika's ability to overcome obstacles that would have been insurmountable for most other souls. It was a daunting thought to realize that he had to act wisely not only in the face of Yumichika's beauty and allure, but also in the presence of Ruri'iro Kujaku and all that the mercurial Atmen brought with him.

So far, things had gone smoothly since leaving Gonow. The temperamental peacock was too weak and dependent to make much fuss. True, he coveted Yumichika's time like a hoarder, but Ikkaku decided that was due to his helplessness, a situation to which he was not at all accustomed, although he seemed to relish the increased attention.

In fact, this was the first time Yumichika had been away from him for anything other than necessity. Given Yumichika's focus on Ruri'iro Kujaku, Ikkaku realized that what Yumichika was doing right now, taking the time to be with him—and in such an intimate manner—was his way of showing his long-time companion that he still loved him and valued whatever time they might find together.

Ikkaku was determined not to complicate things.

"That's not even a real question," he replied at last, then adding with a knowing grin, "I know you better than that."

Yumichika replied in kind, "And I know you better than you know yourself. Even if I wanted you to make love to me—"

Ikkaku grimaced at the choice of words – so sugary, so . . . not Ikkaku. "Yumichika."

"Don't interrupt," Yumichika scolded. "Even if I wanted you to _make love to me_ ," he emphasized the distasteful phrase, "I know you wouldn't. I know you understand." He sat up, face-to-face with Ikkaku, and put one arm around his neck. "But we can still have this, can't we?"

"It's exactly enough," Ikkaku answered. "Anything else wouldn't feel right."

The rain began to fall, sparse heavy droplets at first; but within seconds, it was as if the sky had ruptured and the water poured forth as if from a celestial spigot.

Ikkaku got one foot beneath him. "We should go inside—"

"No," Yumichika protested, pulling him close as he lay back in the wettening grass. _"This feels right."_

* * *

The thunder was right overhead now. The little cottage seemed to vibrate with every burst of sound. The wind was howling, the rain pounding against the wooden shutters and the thatched roof. Lightning made the night seem almost as day.

Ruri'iro Kujaku sat up in the bed. "Master?" His voice was nearly drowned out by the sounds of the storm. "Master?!" He looked over to see Madarame's bed empty as well.

' _They must both be outside.'_ From what Ruri'iro Kujaku could hear and see, this was not a storm to be going about in.

"Master!" He raised his voice, but still no answer.

There was nothing for it, then. He would have to get up and go see if he could find him. He might still be frail and recovering, but he could manage a bit of exertion, as long as he didn't have to go far. He got to his feet and still dressed in nothing but the flimsy night shift, he started for the door; but just as his fingers closed around the handle, a reddish flash of light filled the cottage, and a moment later, he felt a gentle yet powerful grip on the scruff of his neck, pulling him back several steps from the door.

"Enh-heh, and where do you think you're going, featherhead?"

Ruri'iro Kujaku squirmed free of the grasping fingers and turned to face his inquisitor with a carefully calculated expression of utterly fabricated meekness and genuine concern.

"My master is out there—" he began plaintively.

"Yeah, and mine, too. Trust me, they're both fine."

Ruri'iro Kujaku was not convinced. "You don't know that."

"Yes, I do. You may not be able to see through your master's eyes anymore, but I can sure as hell still see through mine when he's this close . . . and he's right outside the door . . . well, a few steps off the path. Believe me, they're both safe."

"Then why don't they come in?" Ruri'iro Kujaku flustered, trying once more to get to the door.

Hoozukimaru stopped him in the same manner as the first time. "Because they're busy."

"Busy?! It's a torrent outside, there's lightning everywhere! They could get hit by a falling tree or—or—"

"Stop fretting," the dragon chastised. "They'll get a little wet and muddy, that's all."

"Well, what are they doing? Can't it wait until the rain is over?" The Azure Peacock tried to shrug off the pincer hold on his neck, but to no avail.

"No, I don't think it can."

In true dramatic fashion, Ruri'iro Kujaku flung himself back against Hoozukimaru's chest. "Unh! Don't tell me they're—they're engaging in—in—"

"They're not," Hoozukimaru stated flatly. "They're just enjoying some time alone together – without us. They need that, you know?"

"Yes, yes, I know," Ruri'iro admitted. "But what about me? I need my master, too."

"He's with you almost every minute of every day," the dragon pointed out. "Don't be selfish. Besides, I'm with you."

Ruri'iro Kujaku craned his head back and rubbed his cheek against the massive bulk of one furred arm. "Yes, that's true. You're with me. I wish you wouldn't go back into sword form."

Hoozukimaru's smile looked more like a snarl. "It's what my master asks of me, and I do it. It's called obedience. Something you need to work on, remember?"

"Hmph! I don't have much choice at the moment."

Hoozukimaru chuckled. "You may be powerless right now, but you're still the same old featherhead."

"What do you—"

"That's a good thing," Hoozukimaru cut him off before his indignance could fully be expressed. "I loved what you were. And what you are – even if you are being a pest and getting on my nerves."

"You love me because I created you," Ruri'iro Kujaku teased.

"We're not going to talk about that right now," Hoozukimaru deferred. "I never should have told you about that."

"But I think it's a good—" His voice cut off abruptly as Hoozukimaru lifted him awkwardly over his shoulder, carried him the few steps to the bed, then dumped him gracelessly onto the futon.

"Scoot over," he demanded, dropping down and throwing his hip out to clear some room.

"Hey! This bed isn't big enough for both of us!" Ruri'iro Kujaku protested half-heartedly.

"That just means we'll have to sleep close together," the dragon replied, taking the disheveled bird in his arms.

Ruri'iro Kujaku immediately settled into the embrace. "If you insist." A pause. "But if you ever call me featherhead again, I'll shave off all your fur when you're asleep."

Hoozikumaru closed his eyes and smiled. "Sorry . . . Flashy."


	2. Chapter 2

**Dear Reader, Sorry it took me so long to get this chapter up. But I think you'll enjoy where it eventually leads - I know I'm very happy with the idea. Happy reading! Peace, TK**

Chapter 2 Depths of the Ocean

" _We're passengers in time,  
lost in motion, locked together.  
Day and night, by trick of light,  
I must take another journey,  
we must meet with other names."_

 _Secret Separation_  
The Fixx

"There's frost on the ground this morning," Yumichika announced, stepping inside, his arms laden with chopped wood, closing the door behind him with his foot.

Ikkaku rolled over in bed, sat up and rubbed his hands briskly over his arms. "I could have guessed. It's a little chilly in here. I can't complain, though – it's been a long summer. We're halfway through October. It's usually never this warm on the mountain this late in the year." He paused long enough to make a quick scan of the cottage's small interior. "Where is Ruri'iro Kujaku?"

"I sent him down to the stream to bring back some water," Yumichika replied, setting the wood down next to the hearth.

Ikkaku was surprised and pleased at this news. "Well, that's progress."

"He's regained enough physical strength that I think he can manage it on his own," Yumichika replied, then adding, "Or . . . almost on his own."

Ikkaku narrowed his eyes and glanced at the sword-form of Hoozukimaru propped up against the wall next to his bed. He knew immediately that the spirit was manifest.

"You sent Hoozukimaru with him?"

"I asked him to go after him, keep an eye out to make sure nothing happens. You know I can't risk leaving him unprotected." A wry grin brightened his eye. "And I can't think of a better protector."

Ikkaku could not argue with this. "He seems to be doing a lot better these past few weeks," he stated, standing up and stretching, his skin prickling in the cool morning air as he made his way to the hearth where Yumichika already had a kettle of warm bathing water ready.

"Yes, he does," Yumichika agreed.

"Any, uh, is he getting any closer to being able to return to your inner world?" Ikkaku tried not to sound impatient.

"I don't think he's tried," Yumichika replied. "I think he's afraid of trying and failing."

Ikkaku nodded once to signal his understanding, but then he added with unexpected gravity, "He's got to try sometime, Yumichika. You can't enter your inner world. He can't enter it. Maybe it's time you both took some chances."

"I agree," Yumichika said in a considered voice. "But it's not that simple. I don't want to hurt him. What if I end up forcing him to do something he's not ready for? His pride can't handle failure."

Ikkaku gave a gruff, disagreeing laugh. "His pride is the very reason he'd try again. And again and again. He won't tolerate defeat for long. And I think you and I both know that it's only a matter of time – maybe a long time – but still, eventually, he's going to be strong again." He paused and eyed Yumichika closely. "Maybe that's what you're really afraid of. You're afraid of him becoming as powerful as he used to be. All your coddling is holding him back. Are you doing that on purpose?"

"Maybe I do coddle him," Yumichika admitted. "But that's because I almost lost him. I guess I am overprotective, but I'm not afraid of him regaining his strength. I'm just . . . concerned. I feel like I should know him better, that I don't understand him as well as I should."

"I can't help you with that," Ikkaku shrugged.

Yumichika seemed on the verge of saying something, but he remained silent. He busied himself preparing breakfast as Ikkaku used the kettle water for a sponge bath. Any moment, Ruri'iro Kujaku and Hoozukimaru would be returning. The small cottage was about to get very crowded, and any chance for private conversation would be greatly diminished . . .

"Are you happy here, Ikkaku?"

The question was so unexpected, so ridiculous, so pointless that Ikkaku actually took offense at its being asked, but he did not show it. He'd learned very well over the decades how to measure his responses where Yumichika was concerned.

"You know I am."

"Working with members of the Gotei 13 again didn't . . . make you yearn for the days of Squad Eleven?" Yumichika pressed with fabricated innocuousness.

Unwilling to be led by the nose, Ikkaku replied by turning the question back on his inquisitor. "Did it make you?"

"Well, no, but . . . you're very different from me," Yumichika said. "I know how much you loved being a member of Zaraki's squad, and fighting is second nature to you—"

"We've been through all this before – a long time ago," Ikkaku interrupted, still maintaining his calm. "Why are you bringing it up again?"

"Because it was _a long time ago_ ," Yumichika replied. "I can't help but wonder if your attitude has changed, if you'd rather be back with the Gotei 13."

Now, Ikkaku made no attempt to hide his exasperation. "Would I be here with you if I wanted to be back in the Seireitei?"

"It's possible to want both," Yumichika pointed out, and his words had the precise effect he'd been expecting.

Ikkaku's quick, non-thinking response was halted before the first word even came forth. Instead, he regarded Yumichika with a hope disguised as doubt. "What are you getting at, Yumichika?"

"You want to be with me, but I think you also want to be back in the Gotei 13. I think you've always wanted it, but you never spoke of it out of respect for me and what I wanted. But after working with members of the squads while you were trying to rescue me . . . I can feel it in you." A pause. "And I think you should act on it."

Ikkaku raised an eyebrow. "You're willing to go back to the Seireitei?"

Yumichika swallowed at the realization that he'd been misunderstood. "No, not me. The Gotei 13 was never for me. But I . . . I think you should go back. For a little while, at least."

Ikkaku was stunned, then infuriated. "What the hell are you talking about? You want me to go back to the Seireitei and just leave you here to fend for yourself? And with an injured Atmen to protect and look after? Have you lost your mind, Yumichika?"

"No," came the placid reply. "I just think it's the best thing – for a few months, Ikkaku."

"I risked my life to save you, and now you want to send me off to the Seireitei? But only for a few months? What's this all about, Yumichika? The truth."

Yumichika nodded slowly. The truth. He owed him at least that much. "I need to be alone with Ruri'iro Kujaku – just the two of us. If he and I are ever to develop the kind of understanding and trust that's going to be so crucial from here on, then we need to . . . to not have any outside influences or distractions—"

"Distractions!"

Yumichika was firm. "Yes. _You_ are a distraction. _Hoozukimaru_ is a distraction. I can hardly get any time alone with Ruri'iro Kujaku. Ten minutes here or thirty minutes there doesn't . . . it isn't enough for me and him to get to . . . it isn't enough." He let out a long, trailing breath. "I need to figure out how to love such a creature. I think I can only do that if . . . if the other people I love aren't around, competing for my attention. I have to do this, Ikkaku. We've both seen what can happen when Atmen aren't properly cared for. I would—I would never forgive myself if I didn't learn anything from the lessons of Campion and Nelphune, or Kennah and whoever his master was—"

"Or Hlayma and Forquet," Ikkaku put forth. "It's not all on you, Yumichika. There seems to be something in the nature of Atmen that makes them hard to deal with. But not every Atmen ends up corrupt." He was silent as he sifted through what Yumichika had said; and he grudgingly admitted that there was some merit to the argument. Atmen seemed to need the undivided and focused attention of their masters in order to remain loyal, decent beings.

"I'll make a deal with you," Ikkaku began, his voice and manner firm and uncompromising. "I'll give you and Ruri'iro Kujaku the space you need, but I won't go back to the Gotei 13. Someone needs to be close by to protect the two of you—you're both nowhere near able to protect yourselves. So, I'll put up a shelter on the other side of the meadow. That way, you two can have all the privacy you need, and I'll be close enough to help out if there's trouble." He added quickly, as Yumichika opened his mouth to speak, "That's the deal. Take it or leave it."

"But I'll still end up seeing you every day—"

"No, you won't. You won't even know I'm there, unless you need me."

Yumichika drew in an unconvinced breath. "I don't know, Ikkaku. It's not what I had in mind—"

"It's all I'm offering. Like I said, take it or leave it."

"You promise you'll give me the space and time I need to master Ruri'iro Kujaku," Yumichika pressed.

"I promise."

"And you won't let Hoozukimaru interfere?"

"As best I can," came the honest reply.

"He'll obey you," Yumichika stated, adding a meaningful conditional. " _If_ you stand your ground."

"Don't worry about me and Hoozukimaru. You just focus on your relationship with Ruri'iro Kujaku. Remember, you said it would only be a few months. I'm not going do this forever, Yumichika," Ikkaku warned.

"I wouldn't ask you to do it forever," Yumichika said. "And I wouldn't want to be away from you that long."

"Yeah, save your sappy sentimentalism," Ikkaku said with a crooked grin. "We've got more important things to think about. I need a place to live . . . and we don't have long to build it before the hard weather sets in."

"Between the four of us—well, the three of us—I think we can manage."

Ikkaku shook his head in disbelief. "I can't believe I'm agreeing to this."

* * *

"Don't fall in. I don't want to have to go in after you. That water's cold."

Ruri'iro Kujaku ignored Hoozukimaru's cautionary words and continued on his way over a moss-covered log that had fallen across the stream.

Hoozukimaru looked at the yoke and two buckets sitting on the bank before him, deposited there by Ruri'iro Kujaku before he'd started off upstream to where the make-shift bridge seemed to beckon him, like a child, away from his assigned task.

"Little Pretty sent you down here to get water. Remember what I said about being obedient?" the dragon dutifully prodded.

"I remember," came the reply. "And I'm not being disobedient. I'm going to bring the water up . . . after I do this first."

"Do what?"

"I'm just taking a walk," came the flighty, unconcerned response.

"And do you think you're up to it? Or am I going to have to carry you back?" Hoozukimaru stood at the juncture where the log met the bank and crossed his arms expectantly.

Ruri'iro Kujaku looked back over his shoulder and smiled. "You wouldn't mind, I'm sure."

Hoozukimaru could only shake his head. "You're awfully smug for someone who's pretty much dependent on the kindness of others for his well-being."

The ebullient peacock shrugged. "I have my master. And you. And your ridiculous master. What do I have to fear?"

In one leap, Hoozukimaru sprang across the stream and landed on the far side, directly in front of where Ruri'iro Kujaku was about to step off the log.

Startled, the peacock stumbled backwards, losing his balance, only to be pulled to safety on solid ground by the protective dragon. "Surprises, that's what," Hoozukimaru replied. "You act as if there isn't a danger in the entire universe."

"There's danger, of course. I _know_ that." Ruri'iro Kujaku spread his arms and turned in a funny, celebratory circle. "But I'm an Atmen!"

"You don't even know what that means," Hoozukimaru scoffed in a teasing manner.

Ruri'iro Kujaku was not put off. "You're right. I keep waiting for the memories to emerge—there must be memories, right?" He sighed with all the bluster and performance of a master actor. "But they don't, and I'm left to wonder how I'm supposed to act as one of the most powerful beings ever created."

Hoozukimaru rolled his eyes and simpered. "Here we go."

"It's true, isn't it? Once I've regained my power, I'll be stronger than any other created being—"

"If you're not snatched up first by some enemy while you're in this condition," Hoozukimaru pointed out. But he quickly dropped that topic, for there was a much more interesting concept at hand. He walked along Ruri'iro Kujaku on the woodland trail. "Do you really not remember anything?"

The Azure Peacock spoke honestly. "I'm not sure. I get bits and pieces – fragments – that pass through my mind, but I don't know if they're memories or just . . . moments of fancy." A pause. "But I don't think that's so unusual. You don't remember all the times you've been here, waiting for your master to return from his latest incarnation, do you? You don't remember when he's come back or even who he was each time."

"True."

"I think it's that way for all zanpakuto. And maybe it's that way for most Atmen – or at least for the ones who chose to . . . hibernate." A frown drew down his expression. "I don't think many Atmen made that choice. It seems like most of them decided to stay awake and . . . live independently of their masters."

"You may be right," the dragon acknowledged. "So, now that you know you're an Atmen, what will you do when Little Pretty goes back to the living world for his next incarnation? Will you go to sleep or stay awake and cause all kinds of havoc, like others before you have done?"

Ruri'iro Kujaku drew in a sharp breath, as if he'd been struck. "Back to the living world? He must never go back to the living world. He must never leave me."

"Now, that's ridiculous," Hoozukimaru chastised. "If you want him to reach perfection, he's going to have to go back. He's not going to reach it staying here."

"I would go back with him," Ruri'iro Kujaku spoke out anxiously.

"Don't you . . . don't you think you probably felt this way and said these same things before? I mean, I'm sure you two have been through plenty of incarnations together here in Soul Society. But you never went back to the living world with him, did you? You'd remember that, for sure."

The peacock stopped walking and his troubled gaze fell to the ground. "I don't know how many incarnations he's been through. I don't know anything other than what we've had together in this . . . in this life."

"But you know you this isn't his first time here in Soul Society. If he's the master you chose from the very beginning, that would have been thousands of years ago. He's only been in Soul Society for . . . not even two hundred years, as far as I can figure out," Hoozukimaru stated. "That means he was here before. And the two of you would have come together somehow, just like you did this time. I think it must be that way for all souls that are the masters of zanpakuto – or at least for the zanpakuto that are born of their master's spirit."

Ruri'iro Kujaku sighed. "I truly believed my master had given life to me, that he'd created me from his own thoughts and desire." A pause. "All along, it was me . . . I was the one who made him who he is. He took from my being. He—he may even be one of my own creations!"

Hoozukimaru could not discern whether the peacock was distressed or boastful. Either way, he found his friend's reaction humorous and in character. "I think it's safe to say you both have rubbed off on each other over the course of incarnations, however many there may be."

Ruri'iro raised an assessing eye. "The same can be said for you and Madarame."

"Now, you're just being insulting."

"I would never," the peacock replied, taking a step closer and circling his arms around the dragon's waist, pressing forward and settling against the warm, furry torso. "I love you too much to insult you."

Hoozukimaru returned the embrace. "But not enough to heed my advice."

Ruri'iro Kujaku looked up at him with wide, innocuous eyes. "What advice?"

"About being safe, about not being so . . . careless," Hoozukimaru warned, and he became very serious. "Ruri'iro Kujaku . . . you're still in danger. Even if are one of the most powerful beings, you're not all-powerful, and you're not undefeatable – especially right now. More souls know about your existence now, and . . . we just have to watch out for anyone who'd want to . . . use you for their own purposes."

"I understand all that," came the soft-spoken reply. "But you know I can't live in fear of what might happen. I just spent what seemed like an eternity trapped inside my master's soul. And while I felt safe there, it was still an imprisonment of sorts. Not like the cages, but a kind of . . . hinterland where I was protected but confined. You know what freedom means to me. If my master feels it's safe enough to let me go off a bit, then you should trust him."

"He sent me with you. Clearly, he's got some reservations. He's playing it safe," Hoozukimaru pointed out.

"And why not?" Ruri'iro Kujaku's manner was unconcerned lowered his head and rested his cheek against Hoozukimaru's chest, counting on his beauty and allure to deflect the topic. "I _do_ need protecting, after all. For the time-being, at least."

"Which is where this conversation started," the dragon pointed out. "You need to be careful, Flashy. After everything that happened in the lower east, things have changed. Even this place isn't as safe as it used to be—"

"Nothing's changed here," Rurir'iro Kujaku protested.

With a bit more exasperation than he'd planned, Hoozukimaru replied, "The place hasn't changed, but it's not as safe _for you_." He placed a large, rough finger under his friend's chin and lifted his head. "The truth about you is out, and there are a lot of corrupt souls who would be happy to take advantage of your weakened state. And if you won't take the extra precautions, I will."

"And I trust you."

The dragon snorted and sighed. Ruri'iro Kujaku had the aggravating ability to disarm his every attempt at being serious, and he never knew if his words were sinking into the mercurial peacock's brain.

"Come on, then. We should go back," he stated, fully expecting resistance.

What a pleasant surprise it was when Ruri'iro Kujaku conceded without argument. Still, Hoozukimaru was not fooled into thinking that this was the first of many concessions. He knew Ruri'iro Kujaku all too well.

* * *

"What a splendid idea! I love it!"

Yumichika was not surprised at Ruri'iro Kujaku's reaction to the news. He'd known that the announcement of Ikkaku living separately for several months would make the peacock very happy. Then he would have his master all to himself. What he had not realized . . .

"That goes for Hoozukimaru, as well," Yumichika went on.

"Enh, now I'm not sure I like this idea," the dragon piped up. "It's not safe for you two to be alone up here."

"You'll only be on the other side of the meadow," Yumichika pointed out. "I think that's close enough if there's danger or an emergency."

"And you can come visit every day—" Ruri'iro Kujaku began, but his master cut him off.

"No, Ruri'iro Kujaku," he protested. "No visits. The whole purpose of Ikkaku moving out is so you and I can spend the time alone – just the two of us. We have a lot of work to do if we're going to have a proper relationship."

"Not see Hoozukimaru for months?" The peacock was troubled.

"You'll see him, I'm sure – but no visits," Yumichika replied. "I don't want any distractions. So, neither Ikkaku nor Hoozukimaru will be coming over."

"But I was separated from him for over thirty years—"

"No visits, Ruri'iro Kujaku." Yumichika was firm.

"What about all the work around here that still needs to be done before winter sets in?" Hoozukimaru asked.

It was Ikkaku who answered, "We'll get that done before we move out. It shouldn't take more than a few weeks. Plus, we have to build a shelter to live in."

Hoozukimaru was neither pleased nor convinced, but he held his tongue. Clearly, the course was already decided upon, and he would do his part to ensure its success.

As for Ruri'iro Kujaku, the prospect of spending time alone with his master outweighed—barely—the disappointment of not seeing Hoozukimaru.

Besides, he was sure he could find ways to circumvent the separation.

* * *

The first snow did not arrive until late December, and then it only fell above the frost line. A fine dusting of powdery flakes that made the trees glisten in the morning sun as it crept up over the peaks.

A perfect morning to stay in and work on some garments to sell on the next trip down into Venla.

Yes, that was what Yumichika decided would be the best use of his time. He rolled over to see Ruri'iro Kujaku still asleep beside him.

The past two and half months had brought even more pronounced improvements in the peacock's condition, although he was still nowhere near recovered with regard to his powers.

He continued his appearance in his most basic form – an exquisite human body. The feathered body of the zanpakuto spirit he'd assumed was not yet within his ability. The pure energy form of swirling colors was also unattainable. Yet, his physical strength was returning, and all outward signs of injury had disappeared. The blue-black mass of hair now reached down just past his shoulders, and he'd taken to wearing it in his usual style of a braid. He'd traded in the gauzy shift for more sturdy—but not less revealing—clothing that Yumichika had made – and remade and remade again until they met with the fastidious bird's idea of acceptable attire, an argument that broke anew every time Yumichika attempted to clothe his zanpakuto with something other than the gaudy and immodest garb that Ruri'iro Kujaku so preferred.

Given the restrictions Yumichika was putting on him elsewise, his appearance was the one area where leeway was given. And to own the truth, Yumichika, while cringing at the near-exhibitionist nature of his zanpakuto, also could not deny that he loved the way Ruri'iro Kujaku looked, and that included the seductive, enticing clothing he wore.

Only a month had passed since Ikkaku had moved out and taken up residence in a very nice, quickly constructed stone and wooden shelter on the opposite and downhill side of the meadow; but in that short time, Yumichika had been amazed at quickly and easily he had fallen back in love with Ruri'iro Kujaku.

It would have been so easy to forget the reason for their isolation, given the joy he took in their time together. And as far as Yumichika was concerned, that joy was the measure of their progress. Yes, he knew that the whole purpose of being alone with Ruri'iro Kujaku was to form a master-servant bond that placed each party in his proper role; yet, the knowledge of his zanpakuto also being an Atmen blurred those lines and made the traditional rules ambiguous in their application. Instead, what he was discovering – or perhaps, rediscovering – was just what an amazing creature Ruri'iro Kujaku was. The peacock's capacity for love – giving and receiving – was boundless; and even moments of contention were infused with an assurance of acceptance that made any disagreement a trifling matter, nothing that could threaten their love for each other.

The peace and contentment that sprung up from their togetherness was—Yumichika was convinced—not only contributing to Ruri'iro Kujaku's recovery, but to his own, as well. Yumichika could feel his reiatsu increasing daily. His own injuries had healed much faster than Ruri'iro Kujaku's – but then, they had been much less severe. A well spring of enthusiastic energy was building up within him, and it had no other explanation than Ruri'iro Kujaku's presence and the restored intimacy of their relationship.

All of which made the inability to return to their inner worlds ever the more baffling.

They had both tried.

Many times.

Yumichika knew his inner world still existed. Both Nelphune and Kennah had gone there. Nelphune had even found a way to send Yumichika into his inner world, and there Yumichika had seen the ruined shrine. Whether or not Ruri'iro Kujaku's inner world still existed, in light of the destruction of the center of his power . . . that, Yumichika did not know. But he was certain that the only way to find out was to get them both back into his own inner world, the world of the maroon room, the cave of the peacocks, of the ice and fire, the fields of peacock feathers, the great sea below the cliffs.

Ever since coming back to Venla, a yearning had been growing in his heart to return to his inner world – not just to figure out what could be done with the shrine, but simply for his own sake. He longed for the opportunity to restore the place to the splendor it had once been. And he longed for the fond memories and the chance to create new ones. More than anything, he longed to share the place with his zanpakuto, his Atmen.

He allowed himself an indulgent gaze at the sleeping peacock.

From this vantage point, with the intercession of time and the endowment of innocence so often bestowed by slumber, Yumichika could scarcely believe that he and Ruri'iro Kujaku had—not so long ago—been so solidly estranged from each other that they'd almost become enemies. Yumichika could recall with ease his own failings, and he placed little blame—if any—at Ruri'iro Kujaku's feet. But even with the benefit of hindsight, he still was not sure how to move forward. True, being alone with Ruri'iro Kujaku for the past month had surpassed his expectations of contentment, and that was certainly movement in the right direction. But at some point, there had to be a shift in focus to managing the kujaku's power . . . didn't there?

After all, all zanpakuto had to learn submission to their masters. They had to learn and accept that their powers were not their own, but rather shared abilities with their masters. In that respect, Ruri'iro Kujaku as no different.

But he _was_ different. To deny it was folly.

The Azure Peacock was an Atmen. Granted, an Atmen that knew absolutely nothing about how to exercise the powers of creation he'd been given; an Atmen that had, for any useful purpose, no memory of his status as such a being or the expansive history since his own creation; and, as Forquet had imparted, an Atmen blessed with gifts long forgotten and tumbled into disuse, gifts that needed to be revived and engaged.

" _How am I supposed to teach him or awaken those things in him?"_ Yumichika fretted silently. _"Is just being with him enough?"_

An overwhelming urge to touch his zanpakuto rose up within him, and he reached out, placing his hand on Ruri'iro Kujaku's shoulder.

To his complete surprise and shock, a bluish-green aura of light emanated from where his hand touched Ruri'iro Kujaku's body. He drew back his hand quickly at the same moment that the peacock opened his eyes, looking bewildered and wide awake on the instant.

"What—what was that?" Ruri'iro asked, sitting up and looking around the cottage as if he expected to see something.

"It was me," Yumichika replied. "I touched you, and there was a light that came up where my hand came into contact with your skin."

"I felt . . . it was energy inside me . . . it was . . . it was coming alive," came the rushed, confused, thrilled answer.

"That's good, isn't it?" Yumichika posed timidly, also sitting up.

"Yes, yes! I'm growing strong enough to the point where I can feel my energy again! Touch me again."

Yumichika took Ruri'iro Kujaku's hand in his own.

Again, a small halo of light formed at the site of contact.

"I'm still too weak to feel it on my own," the peacock explained, "But when you touch me—when your energy comes into contact with mine—it draws mine out! There's a—an attraction!" His excitement was clear. "Oh, master! I—I haven't felt this in—in—I can't even remember the last time!" He looked off into an invisible future. "Maybe—maybe soon I'll be able to enter your inner world! And then I can try to rebuild the shrine!"

It made Yumichika very happy to see his zanpakuto's enthusiasm. He only hoped it wasn't too presumptive.

"You'll probably be able to enter my inner world before me," he stated. "I was only able to enter when Nelphune and Kennah—when they did—when they were . . . in control." He colored, embarrassed at his stammering through an uncomfortable admission. But it wasn't just embarrassment that caused him to lower his eyes. No, there was thoughtfulness, too.

"Ruri'iro Kujaku . . . " He looked up slowly, not sure if what he was about to say had any merit whatsoever. "They knew a way in. It was easy for them. As an Atmen, you—you can probably do it, too."

When Ruri'iro Kujaku did not answer, did not give any indication of response, Yumichika was not sure what to make of it. "Kimi?"

The peacock's expression was somber and loving. "I would never do that to you. I would never defile you the way they did."

Yumichika was touched, but he was also desperate. Desperate to return to his inner world, desperate to see if the place could be restored and how quickly.

"From you, I wouldn't consider it a defilement," he said earnestly. "From you, it would be an act of love."

"No, master," Ruri'iro Kujaku maintained. "It would be wrong."

"Not if it's for a good reason," Yumichika persisted. "And it would only be once. If it doesn't work, then I wouldn't ask you to do it again."

"And it if does work—and if it remains the only way we can enter your inner world, would you then ask me to do it again? And again and again? Kimi, I can't." The peacock was adamant.

"But it may be the only way."

Ruri'iro Kujaku regarded him with a troubled expression.

"If that's the truth, then we'll both have to reconcile ourselves to living in the outside world," he said at last. "I would rather remain out here than . . . do _that_ to get inside."

"But I'm asking you to," Yumichika pressed. "I wouldn't mind it – because it's you. You wouldn't be taking anything from me. You wouldn't be doing it against my will."

"But it would be against _my_ will!" the flustered peacock cried out. "Kimi, please—please try to understand." He drew back and looked away in distress. "It isn't just about . . . hurting _you_." He paused and struggled for find the right words, fearful of speaking in terms that might begin the alienation between him and his master anew. "What I did with Kennah . . . I had to do. I wanted to save your life, and I—I made a choice—"

"This wouldn't be like that, Ruri'iro Kujaku," Yumichika interrupted. "You wouldn't be the one—the one—" His cheeks burned crimson as he spoke, and he tried a different tack. "You would be the one in charge, not the one . . . "

"Unnh!" Ruri'iro Kujaku groaned in exasperation, and in his usual blunt manner, he blurted out, "Giving, receiving, it doesn't matter! Kimi—master! I'm not supposed to have those kinds of—of relationships!"

Yumichika narrowed his eyes. "What kind?"

"Sexual relationships!"

"With men?"

This brought Ruri'iro Kujaku's head back around quickly. "What—men? You mean male? No, I'm not supposed to have them with anyone! Male, female, human, animal, zanpakuto! Kimi, I'm not human! I'm not animal! I'm pure spirit! I may be able to take on different forms, but that doesn't change the fact that I'm not—I'm not male or female, I'm not any species where there are two sexes that mate—"

Here, Yumichika could not suppress the involuntary smile that began forming on his lips.

Ruri'iro Kujaku noticed this and was ready to be indignant that his master should make light of the turmoil he was experiencing. "What do you think is funny about this?"

Yumichika replied assuredly, "Ruri'iro Kujaku, you may be many things, but sexless is not one of them. When the Creator made you, He also gave you all the attributes – physical and otherwise – of a male. Maybe you _are_ pure spirit; but you're also pure male." He paused and his confidence increased further. He crossed his arms over this chest in a knowing, challenging manner. "And you're the most sensual, provocative being I've ever seen – and you know it and you like it. You take pride in it." He unfolded his arms and leaned forward slightly, putting his hands on Ruri'iro Kujaku's waist. "Which is why I don't understand why you draw the line . . . where you do. Why won't you go that final step?" He quickly walked back from the question, leaving room for understanding, for he'd not forgotten Forquet's warning. "I know it's important to you, and I would never force you to do anything to compromise that. I only want to know . . . oh, Ruri'iro Kujaku, you must know how hard it is to be around you, to see you even once, and not want . . . not want to have you in that way."

This appealed to the peacock's sense of self, and he allowed a pleased, prideful gleam to come into his eye. "Yes, I know that," he admitted, only a little boastfully. "And I can't tell you why I feel the need to refrain from sexual contact. I just—something inside tells me not to do it."

This small pronouncement effectively ended the discussion as far as Yumichika was concerned. If Ruri'iro Kujaku had something hidden within his being that warned him away from that particular form of intimacy, then there must be a good reason.

"Very well," Yumichika conceded, managing to muster a good deal of genuine acceptance. "Then we should work on finding another way to enter our worlds. That has to be our top priority." Seeing the noncommittal expression on the kujaku's face, he asked, "Do you think it should be something else?"

After a brief hesitation, Ruri'iro Kujaku replied with heartfelt sincerity, "I think we should work on being lovers – the kind of lovers that only we can be." He put his hands on top of Yumichika's, still resting on his waist. "I think there must be other forms of union that are . . . even greater than sexual coupling. Maybe if we work on that, everything else will follow."

Yumichika was often amazed by his zanpakuto's insight. "For such a scatterbrain, you do manage to come up with ideas that make sense," he said. "Okay, let's give it a try. Let's be lovers."

" _Whatever that entails,"_ he added in the silence of his own mind. One thing was for certain: with Ruri'iro Kujaku, it would be exciting, if nothing else.

* * *

"I hate this."

"Well, get in line."

"You should never have agreed to this, partner."

"You agreed to it, too."

"Not really. I had no choice. You and Little Pretty made the decision without even checking with me. Or Flashy."

Ikkaku turned his gaze towards Hoozukimaru with an expression that was almost begging for a fight, given how boring things had been over the last three months. "Masters don't let their zanpakuto make the decisions for them," he pointed out. "Now, stop your bellyaching. I know this sucks, but it's what Yumichika thinks is best, and . . . well, the place hasn't blown up, and they haven't killed each other, so something must be going right." He got up from where he'd been lying beside the blazing fire in the rough-hewn firepit in one corner of the quickly constructed shelter that he and Hoozukimaru had been living in for the past three months. The smoke wafted up through a cured wood chimney-type thing, and drifted away over the snow-covered mountainside.

In the lingering warmth of the fall, the shelter had been more than adequate, but as the cold had settled in, its shortcomings had become all too clear. Unlike the cottage, the inner walls of which Yumichika lined with thick, well-made tapestries in the winter for the purpose of keeping the cold out and heat in, the shelter had not been equipped with such niceties. Still, that was an easy fix, for there were many wall-hangings to spare, and Ikkaku used the occasion to pay a rare visit to the cottage.

Ikkaku had also taken to asking Hoozukimaru to stay manifest – not only to add his body heat to the place, but also for the companionship. Ikkaku was loathe to admit it, but for a man who had once moved only in solitude and despised the company of others, he now preferred togetherness as opposed to isolation.

Yet, having another being present—and one as large as Hoozukimaru—brought into stark relief the other short-coming of the shelter: its size. It simply was not a comfortable situation, and when Ikkaku got up from his place by the fire to stretch his legs and take his thoughts off his mind-numbing boredom, he could only go two paces before coming face-to-face with his zanpakuto spirit, who appeared to be every bit as spoiling for some contention as his master.

"Besides," Ikkaku went on. "You somehow manage to see Ruri'iro Kujaku at least once a week."

"Huh, not since the snow came down," the dragon corrected, not putting any cover on his agitation. "And seeing Flashy from a distance in passing doesn't count. You see Little Pretty more than I see Flashy, if we're going to include catching a glimpse across the meadow. That's bullshit, partner. That's bullshit, and you know it. It was a bad idea to agree to this."

"Sheesh, you're acting like you've been separated from him for years—" Even as he said it, he realized just how true a statement it was. He needed to back off without backing down. "It's only been a few months."

But Hoozukimaru was not letting him off the hook that easily. "And it _was years_ before that." He stood up—a crouch in the low-slung shelter—and snarled a challenge. "Just because I miss Flashy more than you miss Little Pretty isn't any reason why I should sit here and suffer for stupid agreements you made."

Ah, it was just what Ikkaku had been hoping for. He should have known Hoozukimaru would deliver. They both needed a confrontation, and it needed to have as its basis, something just stupid enough to be of no consequence.

"You think you're getting past me to go see that moulty peacock?" Ikkaku postured.

"You think you're going to stop me?"

Ikkaku grinned wickedly. "I'm looking forward to it."

* * *

A thunderous clash of steel on steel came roaring across the meadow and echoing down the valleys against the steep walls not cushioned by snow fall. A moment later, there was a much louder, sustained crashing sound.

"What's that?!" Ruri'iro Kujaku asked, leaping up and going to the window, where he threw open the shutter to look out onto the overcast afternoon.

Yumichika was not nearly as intrigued – perhaps because he already knew what the sounds were.

"My guess is that Ikkaku and Hoozukimaru have found a way to entertain themselves without us," he put forth. "And the sound waves they just sent off caused an avalanche in the valley above Trickle Fall."

"Are we in danger?" the peacock asked.

"No," Yumichika smiled. "Not unless they bring their fighting over here."

"Oh! I hope they do!" Ruri'iro Kujaku enthused eagerly.

" _I'm sure you do,"_ Yumichika said to himself. Then aloud, "Not if they know what's good for them." After a brief pause, he said, "Listen, they're already moving away, down the valley. It sounds like they're having a pretty good time."

Ruri'iro turned and regarded his master with a degree of awe. "You can tell all that from just sitting there?"

"There's nothing special to it," Yumichika replied. "It's just simple observation, using the senses."

Ruri'iro Kujaku closed the shutters and returned to where Yumichika sat by the fire, working on some garment or other. Without a break in his movement, he took the cloth and sewing implements from his master's hands and set them aside.

"Use your senses on me," he said directly, alluringly, with about the same subtlety as the avalanching snow outside.

Yumichika stared at him without speaking, but Ruri'iro Kujaku needed no encouragement to state what was on his mind.

"Explore me. Just like you used your senses to explore what's going on outside right now. Use them to explore me."

Yumichika understood perfectly well that in Ruri'iro Kujaku's mind, there was no dichotomy between what he had requested and what he had always maintained – the necessity to preserve his purity and refrain from crossing a very well-defined line in the course of physical contact. As a pair, they were both very adept at coming to the brink but never stepping over the edge. Ruri'iro Kujaku seemed able to restrain himself with ease. For Yumichika, it was not without great effort. It had been that way since the beginning. The fact that Ruri'iro Kujaku derived the fullness of enjoyment merely from his master's touch was something Yumichika envied him even as it caused him moments of frustrated impatience. He wondered if he would ever find the sort of satisfaction Ruri'iro Kujaku managed to find under such limitations; or would he be forever consigned to teetering on the border, forced to wonder what he might be missing.

Yumichika held out his hand in a very delicate, inviting manner. "Gladly."

Ruri'iro Kujaku placed his own hand in his master's, and Yumichika led him to the futon, where he disrobed him and then removed his own clothing. There would be no demur starting and stopping.

He settled his full weight against Ruri'iro Kujaku's body beneath him and kissed his lips slowly and tenderly. He placed his hands on the peacock's shoulders and ran them down his arms until his fingers found and intertwined with Ruri'iro Kujaku's. Then in a wide-arcing sweep, he brought his zanpakuto's hands up above his head and retraced his way back down until his hands rested on Ruri'iro Kujaku's hips. He used his knees to spread Ruri'iro's legs just enough for him to rest comfortably in between.

It was one of Yumichika's favorite means of touching Ruri'iro Kujaku, for he felt that it was open and made the peacock more accessible to him. There was also a sense of being in command, and oddly enough, Ruri'iro Kujaku seemed to take great pleasure in being subjugated – something Yumichika had not expected from his prideful, independent Atmen.

Yumichika moved from Ruri'iro Kujaku's mouth to his jaw to his neck, savoring the uniqueness of each patch of skin, the texture, the flavor, the smell. But it wasn't just the physical exploration that entranced him. Being in such intimate contact with his zanpakuto, he could once again feel the increasing spirit energy and the slowly returning indefinable characteristics of a power that defied explanation, other than that it was the power of an Atmen.

Yes, Ruri'iro Kujaku was growing stronger. But that wasn't all.

Yumichika detected a subtle yet undeniable shift in essence from what the peacock had presented in the years prior to his experience of being trapped within his master's body. There was a greater element of the unknowable—the Atmen—comprising his being than before. Before, the zanpakuto element had been the greater, something that could be known, tamed, subdued, even forced into being something it wasn't. Now, what Yumichika sensed was a quality that stood always just beyond comprehension, just outside the reach of understanding. It wasn't threatening; nor was it inviting. It was a curiosity that Yumichika could not even put into words. He could not even inquire about it, for he didn't know how to express what he was sensing. He only knew that it made him feel even closer to Ruri'iro Kujaku at the same time as increasing his awe of a being he was supposed to master.

He pressed his cheek against his Atmen's chest.

"You're so warm," he murmured. He raised his head to see Ruri'iro Kujaku lying with closed eyes, his neck arched, head back, his lips slightly parted and glistening moist with each  
breath . . . the image of one lost in ecstasy. And just from the touch of his master.

It gave Yumichika a certain degree of self-satisfaction to know that he could induce such a state in his zanpakuto, that he could bring one of the most powerful created beings to experience the heights of passion—without actually having sex. But then again, he knew that what the peacock was experiencing went far beyond the banal pleasures of sexual gratification. Whenever they engaged in such intimate contact, Ruri'iro Kujaku often appeared to lose himself completely, to depart on a quest that made him seem absent in his own body. Yumichika considered that he was looking for a way in, always searching for some manner of entering their inner worlds.

And whatever he could do to further Ruri'iro Kujaku's success in that quest, he would do so.

He turned his head slightly, finding one tiny, erect nipple, taking it gently between his lips and massaging with his tongue. He felt Ruri'iro Kujaku shudder beneath him.

Then, in the next moment, the peacock's body went slowly limp, and at the same time that Yumichika heard the breath trail out of his zanpakuto in one long exhalation, he also felt the unmistakable wash of spirit energy rise up to envelop him. Opening his eyes, he saw the inside of the cabin through a filter of blue-green light. Moving his head as little as possible, for fear of disturbing the connection, he looked up and down the length of his and Ruri'iro Kujaku's bodies. They were both within the light.

"Kimi?" he whispered.

But Ruri'iro Kujaku did not answer. The peacock continued on in what appeared to be a deep, impenetrable slumber, marked by unnaturally long breaths, and otherwise complete stillness.

"Ruri'iro Kujaku?"

Yet, while still met with silence, Yumichika had the impression of what he should do, like the recollection of a dream taking form in the moments after waking up. He slid his hands under the small of Ruri'iro Kujaku's back and pulled him as close as he could, pressing against him as if he could sink into and be absorbed by the Atmen's body. He closed his eyes and made a great, indefinable effort.

When he opened his eyes again, he was in the maroon room.

Ruri'iro Kujaku was still beneath him, unconscious, sleeping, engulfed in some other state of mind . . . it was hard to tell exactly what his condition was. All Yumichika was sure of was that he was still breathing and every attempt to wake him met with failure. Yet, this did not frighten Yumichika. He did not sense that the peacock was in any danger, and the fine blue-green mist swathed him protectively.

"Maybe this is the only way you could get me here," Yumichika ventured out loud. He caressed Ruri'iro Kujaku's cheek. "I just hope you know how to get us both back." With that, he got to his feet and surveyed his surroundings.

As on his last visit, the room was now stark and fully devoid of the warmth it had once possessed. He was tempted to linger, but he had much more to see.

His first step out of the maroon room confirmed what he had already seen and known from his last visit under the agonizing compulsion of Regent Kennah: the place was mostly dead. The waving fields of peacock feathers were now no more than barren stretches of brittle vanes on their way to becoming dusty remnants. The cages, the vines . . . gone. The entire place felt cold and empty.

And yet, Yumichika was optimistic. What his surroundings lacked in warmth, he made up within his own soul. This was his place, and he cherished it. After neglecting to enter it for so many decades, he had decided to appreciate to the fullest all that he had missed, even the thin relic of what had once been a magnificent and opulent refuge.

With that in mind, he set off across the dead landscape towards the shrine, already knowing what he would find there. It would only be a brief stop. There was little he could do at the shrine, for that was Ruri'iro Kujaku's home, and only the peacock could rebuild it – or that was what he suspected intrinsically. He wanted to check only one thing . . .

He alit just outside the fallen arch of the doorway and walked inside with the soft step of a cat. Stepping over a small pile of rubble, he saw what he had come to see.

The flower mosaic, alive and gleaming quietly.

He smiled.

Then he headed for the cave of the Peacocks, and here he was surprised and somewhat flummoxed. The lake still appeared drained, bottomless, diving down into the darkness of the abyss before him. Yet, he could hear the sound of rushing water – not just flowing or falling water – this was rushing water, forceful, violent, and of a magnitude that could be felt without the benefit of seeing it.

The lake was filling – at an astounding rate, and yet its depths were still unplumbable. How much water had poured in since Ruri'iro Kujaku had been freed from within Yumichika's body? And was there even such a thing as capacity in this case? How long would it be before the water rose to a level where it would become visible?

A fluttering sound made Yumichika's heart skip a beat and he turned his attention anxiously to the ledge on the other side of the empty lake bed. Two birds—peacocks—were just settling onto the rocky outcroppings.

The joy wrought by the sight gave Yumichika a sense of peace, a conviction that everything would be alright, things were moving in the direction they should be.

And it aroused in him a memory from one of his last visits: the peacock that had led him to the cliffs above the ocean then encouraged him—badgered, actually—to attempt a crossing.

There was no such attempt on either of the peacocks' parts this time to lead him anywhere.

He went on his own.

In a few short minutes, he was standing on the cliffs above the sea, gazing out and wondering what was on the other side that the peacock had so badly wanted him to see. Was it possible that somewhere on the other side of the dark waves was the place where Ruri'iro Kujaku had been trapped? Or it might more aptly be said that he was protected. Was there some sanctuary, some secret place that Yumichika had yet to discover? And what was it about the sea that kept him from crossing it? And what was it that kept Ruri'iro Kujaku from breaking the plane of the cliffs?

He had started to find out – once. When Nelphune had used his powers to send Yumichika as a probe into his own inner world, Yumichika had followed the peacock's urging and plunged into the sea. Nelphune had pulled him back.

He now came to the edge and looked down.

There would be no one to pull him back this time.

He jumped.

* * *

Ikkaku leaped back out of Hoozukimaru's range and held up his hand abruptly. "Hold up," he commanded, then like an animal sensing something on the wind, he stood silently, turning his attention towards a perception which he had never felt before. "Something's happening." A pause. "Yumichika. He's doing—he's . . . " His voice trailed off, for he had no words to describe what he was feeling, which was nebulous enough even without words.

"I feel it, too," Hoozukimaru stated, lowering his weapon. Suddenly, his expression grew excited and urgent. "They did it! They're inside Little Pretty's inner world!"

Ikkaku felt foolish that he'd not recognized it for what it was. "You're right," he agreed. "That's exactly what it is."

"Then maybe—maybe that means I can enter, too!" Hoozukimaru was already planning the attempt, but Ikkaku reached out and put a firm hand on his arm.

"No, Hoozukimaru," he protested, shaking his head. "They need to do this alone."

The dragon stared at his master and considered. He had to admit that for such a thick-skulled barbarian, Ikkaku did possess a subtle wisdom, which he even chose to employ from time to time when it suited him.

"Alright," he conceded. "As long as I don't sense any danger in what they're doing—"

"Even if you do sense danger, you're to stay out of it," Ikkaku interjected. "That's business between an Atmen and his master. Let them work out any issues on their own. If we get involved, we'll just screw the whole thing up."

Hoozukimaru grinned wickedly. " _You_ might screw it up. I know Ruri'iro Kujaku well enough to know how to handle him – and Little Pretty, too."

"Don't be so cocky," Ikkaku warned, realizing as he said it just how ironic a statement it was, given his own astounding degree of cockiness. "Neither of us can handle either of them."

"Ha! Speak for yourself, partner!" the dragon boasted. "I can handle them – and you!"

"Is that another challenge?"

Hoozukimaru spun his weapon in front of him. "You betcha!"

* * *

Yumichika opened his eyes, expecting to find himself drenched and coughing up water.

But instead, he was completely dry, his lungs clear.

His fall through the sea—a fall that had seemed to go on forever—had come to abrupt end.

Here, in this place.

He pushed up onto his hands and knees, settled back on his heels, and looked around him.

And was stunned by what he saw.

He was in a forest – deep and dark and alive with sound. Pines rose tall and straight as far as he could see. The forest floor was clear of undergrowth, covered with a blanket of pine needles which muffled the sound of scurrying forest creatures. In the corner of his eye, he could catch a glimpse here and there of animals darting from patch of cover to patch of cover.

He got to his feet, took a few steps and made a slow turn to take in his surroundings more fully. He'd never been in this place before, and he had no idea where he was. He was about to start walking when the sound of laughter came from behind him, and an instant later, a small child—a boy—went dashing past him, alternating between a skip and gallop – and it was clear he had only just learned how to do both.

Yumichika judged the child to be five—maybe six—years old.

"Wait! Stop!" he called out.

The child continued on as if he'd not even heard Yumichika.

"You there! Wait! Come back!" Yumichika shouted again. He began following the boy, catching up with him in a matter of steps, but when he reached out, his hand went right through the child's arm. He drew back, shocked. "What is this?"

Still, the child kept skip-galloping away.

And Yumichika followed, overtaking him in short order, completely unnoticed.

It wasn't until the boy came to a small brook and paused to hop over that Yumichika got a fair glimpse of his face. An odd feeling came over him. The child looked familiar but in a long-forgotten sort of way.

Once across the brook, the child scampered up the slight embankment and went off into the woods. Yumichika went behind him, noticing that there was a barely discernible path the child was following, a slight wearing of the ground that would not have been visible to most observers. But Yumichika knew it was there; his eye had been drawn to it almost instinctively.

He had a vague idea that he knew where the boy was headed, but nothing distinct would take form. He continued to follow, every step increasing the anticipation that was building in his chest. Something was coming – something momentous.

Jumping down into a shallow ditch, the boy startled—Yumichika, as well—at the sound of a high, shrill cry, followed by a raucous aggravated squawking.

Yumichika's breath caught in his throat.

He knew this moment. He knew he had been here before.

Coming to the lip of the ditch, he looked down to see the boy standing rigid and silent, pressed back against the near side of the ditch, into the ferns and brambles. His eyes were wide and unblinking. The object of his attention stood opposite him, crouched against the other side of the ditch.

It was a bird. A large bird, its feathers an iridescent blue and green, with a strange fan-shaped crest on top of its head. Its tail appeared as a train of elongated tail coverts, many of which were clearly damaged or snapped in two. A closer look showed that the bird was injured in many places, yet the creature's sheer size, along with its powerful beak and yellow taloned feet, were enough to still make it worthy of caution.

It recoiled its neck and hissed – a dreadful sound that kept the boy frozen in place for nearly a full minute. And while it was clear that the child had no idea what he was looking at, Yumichika knew precisely what he was seeing.

The beautiful injured animal was a peacock.

It was at that point that Yumichika knew the child before him.

He was looking at himself – a previous life, an earlier incarnation.

This was the moment he'd first encountered Ruri'iro Kujaku.

" _I should know what happens next,"_ he thought, intense even in his own mind. _"I should know! Why can't I remember?"_

He watched as eventually the bird decided it was safe to try and leave the situation. It began to pick its way slowly and awkwardly along the ditch, trailing what was clearly a broken wing in addition to its other injuries, staggering and limping along on a mangled leg.

"Don't let him go," Yumichika implored the boy, despite knowing he could not be heard. "He's hurt. He needs help."

The boy did follow, with great caution – at least at first.

"Come back here," he ordered with the sort of waffling commanding voice that usually accompanies the words of one who desires to do good, but understands their good intentions may not be welcome and may even be dangerous. "I can help you. You're all banged up. Mountain cat get ya? Bear? You come here and I'll help."

Of course, the bird only struggled to move away faster.

"No, no! Don't go away!"

The bird attempted to fly to the top of the ditch, but it came nowhere close and instead, tumbled back down into the dirt and foliage, screeching its distress at it fell.

"Stop it! You're gonna hurt yourself more! Let me—just let me—" He jumped back out of range just in time to avoid being hit as the bird struck out viciously with its beak.

Yumichika watched for the next twenty minutes as the boy tried to get close to the bird, although to what end he could not fathom. The bird was far too big for the child to carry, so what would he do if he were able to get hold of him?

But a child's mind does not consider such things. The desire to help the afflicted animal was the sole consideration driving the boy's actions. And now, after repeated failures, the boy was getting upset, especially as the bird visibly grew weaker and more clumsy.

"I just want to help!" Tears sprang into the boy's eyes. "You won't let me help and you're gonna die."

The bird had retreated under a rocky overhang, and it was impossible for the child to get any closer – not without putting his own life in danger from the beak and the claws.

"Fine! You can stay there!" he shouted angrily, wiping his eyes and stomping his foot. "If you don't want my help, you won't get it!" With that, he turned and stormed tearily back towards the hidden path. Despite the fact that his pursuit of the bird had led him far afield, he knew the woods like they were his home – Yumichika knew this and had no fear for the child's safety.

The boy had gone only a short distance when he stopped suddenly. The look on his face told Yumichika that an idea had entered his head. Now, he broke into a run and sped through the forest faster than a hare.

It took nearly an hour, but at length, he came to small hole in a tree-covered hillside. The entrance was hidden behind an ingenious blind of foliage, which the boy tossed aside with careless hurry.

"Petch! Petch!" he cried out.

Yumichika stopped short. Once again, he felt his heart pounding. The rushing sound of blood filled his ears. He was shaking.

"What are you shouting about?" came a voice from within the cave.

"I found a bird! A great bird!"

Yumichika could almost picture the expression on the other's face as a response was given.

"A bird? All this carrying-on because of a bird?"

"Not any bird! It's a bird I never seen before, and he's hurt—"

"Where are you going with that?"

"I'm gonna try and bring him back so I can look after him—"

"Bring him back? Why you wanna do that?"

"To help him—"

There was a short pause before the other spoke again. "You say this is a big bird? We could feed off a big bird for a long time—"

"No, Petch! We're not gonna eat him! Do you wanna help me go get him?"

"Hell, no. This is stupid. Getting all heart-sick over a stupid bird. Bring him home and I'll make a meal out of him. Dayka—Dayka wait! Damn it!"

At that moment, the boy—Dayka—burst from the hole, pulling a small wooden cart behind him. For a small child, he was very fast, and his determination increased his speed. He ignored the other boy's calls and continued off into the forest.

Yumichika was torn between following him and seeing the owner of the voice, still hidden inside the cave. He knew he'd be able to catch up with the boy, and so he chose the cave.

He felt light-headed as he ducked inside.

There was a small thermal pool near the rear of the cave, and climbing out, naked and dripping wet, was a boy just on the verge of puberty. He might have been twelve or thirteen years old, but it was clear that he was more mature than his years, the likely result of having been forced to live as the adult, the provider, the care-taker at a young age.

The boy was gangly – still too young to have the muscular build of a man; tall and well-postured, proud. His wet hair was black, short, and plastered to this skin, giving his head a narrow, angular appearance. His eyes reflected the candlelight, and his face was expressive.

"Petch . . ." Yumichika whispered, not from any conscious recognition of the boy but from something so deep within him that it came forth without thought or will.

And although that was the name on his lips, the name in his head—this one, the undisputed result of conscious thought and recognition—the name in his head . . .

. . . Ikkaku.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3 Dayka's Peacock

" _Like the restless wind in the treetops  
Like the bird that has to be free,  
There's a part of you  
That will always be part of me."_

 _Bless the Wings  
_ Justin Hayward

Yumichika took a step forward as Petch reached in agitation for a worn piece of cloth that served as a towel and wiped the water from his body, cursing with every breath.

"Dayka, I swear . . . you'd better not bring home another mouth to feed," he groused. "And you'd better not lose that wagon. I don't wanna have to make another one. I'm not going out there after you. No, I'm not. You're going to have to handle this one on your own, but I swear, if you bring home some stupid bird, it's gonna become my dinner."

But Yumichika noticed that, as the complaints mounted and Petch threw on a tattered broad-weave tunic that was at least three sizes too large, it seemed clear that, despite his protestations he was going to do exactly what he'd said he was not going to do. He was going to go after Dayka.

Yumichika could not stop staring at him. The black hair and alert eyes cast such a contrast to what Yumichika had come to know in Ikkaku, yet he knew the stirrings in his chest even now. The feelings of belonging, of being wanted and protected, of loving and being loved . . .

Whatever Petch and Dayka were to each other – and Yumichika was not yet sure of their relationship – he knew that it was based on mutual love and an assurance that neither would ever abandon the other.

Though what a six-year-old boy had to offer a burgeoning teenager was not entirely clear.

Yumichika wanted to touch him, to recall the feel, the texture, the warmth of a boy he had once known better than anyone else. He could see, smell, and hear everything. But he could not touch. He could not taste. He could not draw forth the memories . . . only fragments and a sense of familiarity.

"You were with me . . . even—in earlier lives . . . how—how is that possible?" he whispered.  
"How is it that I know . . . this is you? There's no physical similarity. There's nothing in the face or the eyes." At that realization, Yumichika was reminded that there was nothing physical in the boy, Dayka, that hinted at the fact that he was one of Yumichika's previous incarnations.

Still, there was no doubt in Yumichika's mind. He was seeing himself and Ikkaku in the two boys. And the bird was unquestionably a peacock: Ruri'iro Kujaku.

He whipped his head around as Petch stomped past him and out of the cave's opening. Following, he halted just outside the entrance where Petch now stood statue-like turning his head slowly and sniffing like a dog checking for smells on the wind. He appeared satisfied with the safety of the forest, and so he looked at the ground for signs of which way Dayka had gone. The wagon had left crushed greenery in its wake, and Petch needed only a moment to decide on his path.

Yumichika kept up behind him, marveling at how even the mannerisms of this boy were different from those of Ikkaku. Everything was sharp and abrupt, impatient but not indifferent. And while the ability to complain might have reminded Yumichika of Ikkaku, the style of delivery bore no resemblance. Petch's litany as he hurried through the forest sounded as if he were grudgingly interested in seeing the subject and discerning what was best to be done about it. Ikkaku's groaning had almost always been an expression of his boredom or disinterest in a situation or subject.

In a moment of wry consideration, Yumichika wondered which incarnation was the more advanced. And while his reasons for the consideration were flippant, the question itself was not without merit. It did not follow that every incarnation was an improvement upon the previous. It was just as possible for a soul to regress or progress in each life.

Had Petch been a better or worse version of Ikkaku? Was Dayka a better or worse version of himself?

Twenty minutes later, Petch caught up with the child.

And Yumichika still had no answer to his question.

"You move pretty fast for a little tick."

Dayka did not even break his stride or spare him a glance. "I'm not a tick," he protested, his cheeks puffed up with determination.

Petch cuffed him playfully. "You've always been a tick. You'll always be a tick."

"And you're a weed," Dayka shot back, still focused on his mission.

"Thank you," Petch grinned. "Damn, how far are we going, Dayka?"

"The other side of the stream. He's holed up under the mountain."

"Holed up? Then how do you expect to get him into the wagon?" As he asked this, Petch took over wagon duty and began pulling it himself.

"With food. He gots to be hungry, right?"

" _He's got_ to be hungry," Petch corrected. "Okay, so what if he is? You got something to feed him? How do you even know what he's gonna eat?" His own command of the language was not exactly qualification for him to be admonishing his companion.

Dayka shrugged, unconcerned with such details. "I'll try different stuff."

Petch did not pursue the matter any further but instead followed Dayka for the next hour until they came at last to the overhang where the bird had taken refuge.

Dayka leaned over and peered under the ledge.

"There he is! He's still here!"

Petch got down on one knee and bent over with both hands on the ground.

Yumichika saw the impressed look on his face.

"Eh-heh, that _is_ a big bird," Petch acknowledged. "He's a peacock." A curious look knit his brow. "I've never seen one in a place like this. They don't like the mountains. Too cold for them." He looked at Dayka, now on his hands and knees, inching his way under the ledge. Grabbing the hem of his tattered smock, he tugged him back. "Don't get too close. They can do a lot of damage – especially if they're injured and scared. Your dad used to have them on his estate."

Dayka looked up with surprised eyes. "I never saw 'em."

"That's cause poachers would come and steal them away for their feathers. Your father decided it wasn't worth it to pay so much for them only to have them stolen away," Petch explained. "By the time you came along, he'd stopped keeping 'em."

Petch narrowed his eyes, but it was still difficult to see well in the shadowy cover of the ledge. "It's hard to tell, but he looks pretty bad, Dayka. You may not be able to save him. It might be best to just put him out of his misery."

"You just wanna eat him," Dayka said with calm certainty. "But you're not gonna."

The expression on Petch's face confirmed that Dayka's accusation was true – the injured peacock presented a sizeable meal of good quality meat, so long as the flesh was not too badly damaged. Still, the situation could possibly be finessed.

"Well, yeah, he'd make a good meal – for both of us. But if you wanna try to save him, you can try. I just don't want you to be upset if he ends up dying. I mean, it's hard to see from here, but I can still tell he's bad off," Petch said.

Dayka sat back on his heels. "Do you know what he eats?"

"All kinds of things. Bugs, berries, rodents." Petch reached up and pulled a large, bowed leaf from a scrubby bush overhanging the ledge. "But he probably needs water more than anything else." He handed the leaf to Dayka. "Go fill this with water. There should be some coming off the rocks nearby. You don't have to go all the way back down to the stream."

Dayka squinted at him with suspicion. "You're not gonna kill him while I'm gone, are you? I know you like to eat a lot."

"I'm not going to kill him. I promise."

Once Dayka had set off, Petch searched the nearby woods for something for the bird to eat. In short order, he came upon a large segment of fallen, rotting tree. He broke off a piece as long as his body and dragged it over to the ledge, pushing it under with his foot until it was within the bird's pecking distance.

But the peacock made no move and instead regarded Petch warily through round, dark eyes.

Petch stared back. "Yeah, you took a beating. I can see that. What were you fighting with? Lucky whatever it was didn't kill you outright. But now, you hang on too long, and your flesh is gonna go all bad, and we won't be able to eat you. What a stupid waste of a meal."

"I heard you." This came from Dayka who had returned with the water-filled leaf. "Stop talking like that! He won't trust us!"

"He can't understand us, Dayka," Petch pointed out. "He's a bird. He just knows he's in pain. And I still think we should end his pain."

"What's that?" Dayka asked. He had crouched to set the water down and noticed the piece of wood under the ledge.

"I thought he might be able to find some bugs in it," Petch replied. "See, I am trying to help him, but I still think it's a waste of time. Eh, no-no. Push that leaf back there with a stick. I don't want you getting too close to him. He told you, he can hurt you, Dayka."

Dayka quickly found a stick on the forest floor and pushed the water leaf towards the bird.

"Okay, now we should go and leave him in peace," Petch stated. "We're just gonna make him stress if we stay here."

"I'm not leaving."

"You can stay out here all day, but you're not staying out here at night."

"I'm gon' stay until he comes out and I can get him in the wagon," Dayka replied.

"He's never going to get in that wagon. He's a wild animal. He's not going to go with you," Petch sighed pointedly. "And I'm not letting you stay out here at night. Bad enough I let you roam around alone at day. Your father would kill me if he knew what I let you do. _My_ father would kill me. I only had one thing to do and that was keep you safe. I think I can do one thing right."

"They already know you let me run around," Dayka stated with the tattling arrogance of a child. "They can see everything from heaven. You should know that."

Petch smiled at the boy's wit and insight. "In that case, I'm already in trouble."

Dayka giggled as he returned his attention to his bird. "Me, too."

* * *

For four days, Yumichika remained in this life of long ago. How many days that equated to in his current life, he had no knowledge. He only knew how easy it was to remain here, how much he desired to see every moment, observe and feel every emotion, regain the memories of something so long ago, so remarkable, that he was convicted that it should never be forgotten.

For four days, he watched Dayka go every morning to the overhang to look after his bird and then remain there the whole day. He saw the boy become adept at locating food for the bird, bringing water from the stream in a clay jar that he used to fill the leaf, under the belief that a wild animal would feel more comfortable drinking from something natural than something manmade. He took the opportunity to move within the scenario, to examine the faces, to see Ruri'iro Kujaku in peacock form close up, timid and beautiful, injured and in pain, hesitantly and reluctantly accepting the help being offered, but clearly not willing to give over to full trust.

Even so, a relationship was forming. There was an expectancy forming on the bird's part, perhaps not perceptible to the boy, but obvious to Yumichika, given his foreknowledge of what he was seeing. Every morning, the peacock anticipated Dayka's arrival and the provision of food. Then, an hour or two after eating, the peacock would feel comfortable enough – or exhausted enough after staying awake the entire night – to fall into a light sleep. Dayka would never go far from his charge during this "nap time" – venturing only deep enough into the woods to find more food for the peacock. Then when the bird awoke and ate again, the boy would entertain him with singing and stories.

The stories fascinated Yumichika. The adventures of a fox prince and his most trusted officer – a grizzled old badger. Clearly made up on the spot, filled with wild gesticulations, voice imitations, and the creation of outlandish non-existent words, the stories filled the hours. Yumichika found himself enchanted, and he could tell that Ruri'iro Kujaku was also captivated—not by the tales themselves but by the enthusiasm with which they were told—and it appeared that the intervals of entertainment helped mitigate some of his suffering. Still, he would not allow the child near him, keeping the distance with raucous warning squawks and dangerous scuffling in the dry ground.

He watched as Petch came by at least once a day to check on Dayka and then return in the evening to ensure the boy came back for the night. Dayka wanted to stay all night with the peacock, but Petch was adamant that he return to the cave, for it was not safe to stay in the forest alone once darkness fell. It was a matter of some contention, for Dayka feared greatly for the bird's safety; yet Petch was unmoved by the boy's arguments. And the bird's anxiety was palpable when Dayka left for the night, leaving him, for all intents and purposes, alone and unprotected.

Then came the fifth day, much like those preceding it.

But the fifth night was quite different.

The sounds of distant thunder began shortly after midnight.

And while Petch was not a heavy sleeper, the first reverberations were too low to register through his slumber.

Not so with Dayka. Already anxious on account of his peacock alone in the woods, even the faintest rumblings set him immediately on edge. He sat up and looked across the glowing embers of a fading fire to where Petch lay undisturbed.

Yumichika already knew what was in the child's mind. If a storm was coming, Dayka would not be able to rest until he knew his bird was safe. It was true that the ledge offered about as much protection as the cave, maybe a little less. Dayka knew this, but that knowledge was not enough assurance to put the boy's mind at ease. He had not been able convince the bird to come to him, but he could go to the bird. Even if Petch woke up and discovered him gone, the worst he could do was haul him back. That was a risk worth taking. Dayka knew Petch could never stay cross with him. He even knew, on some level—that level of awareness that only a child can attain before the cynicism and disenchantment of youth set in—he knew that Petch's central reason for living was to care for and protect him. Not in the overbearing and hawk-eyed manner of a guard, but in the trusted and devoted way of one who acts out of love.

Yumichika could discern all of this through the removal of time and space. What he was wracking his brains over was the nature of the relationship between the two. It had to come to him sooner or later. Some hint, some word, some act that would break open the entire thing and bring all the recollections and profusions of memory raging back into his head.

Looking on at the sleeping Petch – as Dayka snuck out into the night – he loved the boy lying there, teetering between childhood and youth. And he knew his love for him was proper and warranted. He trusted him to do what was right by his small and wayward companion. There was something so honest and plain about him. Something good and straightforward.

Dayka, on the other hand . . .

Yumichika pulled himself away from Petch – or rather, he felt something pulling him away. It seemed as if the approaching storm had charged the entire night with its electricity and was now drawing Yumichika outside to follow his previous incarnation into the forest.

The sky directly above him was still clear, and the full moon made it easy to see where he was going. He caught up with Dayka after only a few minutes and marveled at how the boy's single-minded intent pushed aside any fear of what might be lurking in the darkness of a mountain forest at night. Dayka moved well, so accustomed was he to the ground he was covering. He made little noise and paid no heed to the strange sounds around him.

When he came to the creek, the wind suddenly picked up and the trees began dancing to its dangerous tune. The clouds came in overhead, blocking out the moon and its light. Still, Dayka did not slow down. If anything, his pace increased. He knew he didn't have far to go. The only problem was that it was all uphill from here, and that had the child panting before long and growing sloppy in his progress.

Yumichika could hear the treetops snapping above him. The approaching storm was going to be violent, and he felt nervous on the boy's part.

There were times when the wind roared like a zephyr through the trees, knocking the child sideways and even forcing him to the ground several times. Bolts of lightning turned the blackness into flashes of day, and the crash of thunder almost directly above him made the boy jump and throw his arms instinctively over his head. He was about 400 yards from the overhang when the rain began. Heavy, violent, and blinding, it poured down through the trees, as if they weren't even there. Dayka could not wipe his eyes fast enough, and his hands offered small protection as he used them to shield his eyes against the stinging droplets. But he labored on, slipping and falling in the muddy rivulets that now made their way down the mountainside along the paths of least resistance, the slightly worn foot trails.

There was lightning all around now and the continuous sound of thunder, trees whipped into a rage, and other more strange, ominous but unidentifiable sounds crying out on the wind. Dayka was frightened now, on the verge of tears – but still bound and determined to reach his bird.

Yumichika, his fear for the boy's safety notwithstanding, felt a sense of awe and wonder that his previous self had so quickly developed such a strong connection to the peacock that he was willing to go out into such a night.

" _Even then, you loved him instantly,"_ he remarked silently. _"You didn't even know what he was, but you knew there was something about him."_

Dayka came at last to the small lip of ground where the overhang was, and here he dropped to his hands and knees and tried to see inside, but the darkness was impenetrable.

"Peacock!" he cried out. "Peacock! Are you there? Peacock!"

He did not hear anything that would identify as the bird's voice, but neither had he really expected the animal to answer. On top of that, the cacophony around him was so overwhelming, he may not have been able to hear anything even if the bird had responded.

He dropped onto his belly and reached out a hand, trying to find the bird or coax it into coming to him. No luck. He got back to his feet and tried to find a stick that might be long enough for him to probe the darkness under the ledge and see if the peacock was even still there. He found one after only a brief search. He returned to the ledge and was only a yard to two short when a streak of lightning split the darkness, striking a nearby tree and cleaving it in two, raising two tongues of fire that battled powerfully against the rain and the wind.

Dayka screamed as the lightning struck and dropped to his knees. In his shock, the stick went hurtling from his hand and he curled his body in, covering his head with his hands. He was now too terrified even for tears. He felt his entire body trembling . . .

No . . . this wasn't his body making all that movement. This wasn't his body creating the sound of a rushing river.

With an act of soldierly courage, he raised his head and looked around him in the fire-lit forest.

Yumichika recognized the sound immediately. He'd heard it before.

"Run!" he shouted, reflexively leaping and trying to snatch Dayka out of harm's way, but he went straight through the boy's body. Whirling around, he saw the leading edge of mud and splintered trees and mangled undergrowth pushing over the top of the ledge. In a moment, the full landslide would follow.

"Move! Move!" he cried, trying again to push the child clear, hoping that the mere strength of his will could accomplish the feat.

Then, in the next moment, he understood the unassailable wisdom of not being able to change the past – not even past lives.

A familiar green-blue light burst into existence, illuminating the space beneath the overhang. Lying within that light was a man – or at least a being shaped like a man. He was on his side, pushed up awkwardly onto one elbow, the other arm outstretched and reaching towards the boy. Narrow beams of light from his fingers broadened as they lengthened, forming a kind of half-circle over the child. As the mudslide came down, the bubble shunted the debris to the sides. An abrupt closing of the man's fist—much like a desperate grab at thin air—brought the boy flying to safety beneath the ledge.

Yumichika crouched down and dove into the limited space.

The light faded to a faint, unsteady glow. The man's arm dropped to the ground. His eyes closed with a heavy exhalation, and his body went limp.

Dayka, bemused and stunned, had no idea what had just happened. When he lifted his head and saw what was before him, he forgot all about the storm, all about the mudslide that was now slowing down, all about the fire in the trees.

He was mesmerized by what he saw. A beauty beyond imagining. A creature so perfect, so captivating, any remnant of fear was instantly pushed aside.

The man was naked, but most of his body was covered beneath waves of long hair, the color of which was impossible to make out in the misty blue-green light that surrounded him. His face was not androgynous enough to fog his gender, but it was a face that would have defined the perfection of male or female beauty, regardless of the eye of the beholder.

Seeing Ruri'iro Kujaku in this form, this first encounter lifetimes ago, Yumichika's emotions swelled up with such power as to render him frozen in place. He felt as if he were reliving the moment with the child before him. He yearned to slip the constraining reality of the present and go back to this fortunate incarnation, to be a part of the event once more. Yet, he could only watch and envy his previous self. He could only try to capture some small recollection of how it felt the very first time he'd ever seen Ruri'iro Kujaku in a humanesque form.

Dayka inched forward and put out his hand to touch the man's face. He felt both warmth and coolness as his hand passed through the light; when his fingertips made contact with the smooth skin of the man's cheek, a small ripple of bluish energy emanated from the spot, causing him to draw his hand back quickly. A closer look showed that, like the bird, the man was injured in many places; and the uneven rise and fall of his chest showed that, even in unconsciousness, he labored to breathe.

Dayka could see the light from his body was beginning to grow thin. And although he was only a child, he knew that the effort the man had made to save him was what had made him so weak now.

He also knew . . . he also knew he was looking at his peacock.

No logic, no reason could explain why or how he knew that his peacock had turned into this man. But there was no doubt in his mind that they were one in the same. And he felt the same sense of protection towards the man as he did the peacock.

He worked up enough courage to try touching the man again, but just as he was about to attempt it, a low, ominous groan reverberated all around him, followed by a deafening cracking sound. The slab of rock that formed the overhang slowly tilted downward, so that the front edge of the rock came to touch the ground, forming a triangular niche. Where the rock had split, the broken edge slipped down against the back wall of the shrinking refuge in which they were hiding. If it continued to slip, they would be crushed. On one side of the triangle, Dayka could feel rain blowing into their cover. He scrambled over to find a fair-sized opening. At least, he knew he could get out. Whether or not the man was small enough – that he did not know.

The slab slipped again. Delicacy no longer formed any part of Dayka's dealings.

"Wake up! Wake up! We hafta get out!" he shouted, prodding and shaking the man. "Wake up! We're gonna get smooshed!" He tried pulling him towards the opening, but the man was too heavy. "Please! Please! Please! I don't wanna leave you! Wake up! Turn—turn back! Turn back to a bird!"

Somewhere beyond conscious recognition, the boy's words must have registered, for once again, the faint blue-green light filled the space, and when it dissipated, the man was gone and the peacock was once more present, lying in the place the man had occupied.

Dayka had no time to consider the least damaging way to get to bird to safety. He grabbed it by the legs and dragged it to the opening. He squeezed himself through first then reached in and took the bird by the neck and using every bit of strength in his tiny muscles, he pulled it through the hole. When he let go, he tumbled backwards onto the muddy ground, still oozing slowly down the hillside around him. He struggled back to his hands and knees and fought his way back to the peacock, wrapping back arms around the body but unable to lift or carry it with all the added weight of the mud encasing its long train feathers.

"Come on! Come on! I can do this!" he grunted with determination, even as every second took him and his burden further down the hill at the pace of quicksand – slow and thick and exhausting.

Then something had him by the shoulders, and he was pulled up out of the mire. He refused to relinquish hold of his bird, even though he now had barely more than a grip on a handful of feathers. He was set on his feet and dragged backwards, then spun around to face whomever—or whatever—had saved him and his peacock from the mud.

Petch looked fit to be tied. "You—stupid—IDIOT!"

At first, Dayka was more caught by how red Petch's face, heightened by the glow of the fire in the trees. That color red must have meant Petch was very angry. But Dayka would not be bullied or made to feel guilty about what he'd done. His father had taught him not to back down, and because he'd lost his father at such a young age, he'd never quite learned the finesse and rightful application of the command. So now, faced with Petch's clear outrage, he set his jaw and glared. "I am not!"

"You came out here for that bird! You risked getting killed for that bird! That makes you stupid! It makes you an idiot! Stupid idiot!" Petch shouted. "I had to come out here and save you, and if I hadn't found you, then what? Then what?"

"Don't yell at me! And—and—and he's not a bird! He's a man—or-or-or-part-man and part-bird! He turned into a man and he had this light that came from his fingers and he pushed the mud aside and pulled me in and then he—he was too big and I couldn't get him out, so I asked and he turned into a bird again!"

The words came out in such a rush that Petch had a hard time following. He had been expecting Dayka to protest and argue with him, but what was he saying about the bird being a man? Light coming from his fingers? That sounded like delirious nonsense.

Petch leaned forward and placed his hand on the crown of Dayka's mud-covered head. "Are you okay? Did you hurt yourself? You're not making any sense."

Dayka shook his head and stepped back, dropping down to protectively cradle the peacock in his arms. "I'm not hurt, and it's true! It's true! He turned into a man with—with no clothes on and long hair and he had this light—"

"Come on, I think I should get you home," Petch said warily, leaning over to encourage Dayka go with him.

"I'm not leaving him."

"Dayka—"

"No! I'm not leaving him! I'll carry him back to the cave," the boy insisted petulantly.

"He's too big for you to carry that far," Petch countered. "And because you kept the cart here, hoping to bring him back, it's now destroyed in the mudslide. You can't drag him all the way."

"Then _you_ carry him."

"I have to carry you."

Dayka stood up ramrod straight and stuck out his lip as if he'd been insulted. And in his mind, he had. "I don't need to be carried. I'm not a baby, you know."

Petch maintained his calm. "I'm afraid you might be hurt. I think it's safer if I carry you."

"I'm not hurt!"

"Dayka, you're telling stories that make no sense. I think you must have hit your head—eh, wait!" He cut off as Dayka turned away and once again wrapped his arms around the bird—big as his own body—and began stumbling away with him, trodding on the sodden train, and doing more harm than good.

"Okay, okay, okay," Petch capitulated. "Give him to me." He took the bird by the feet. "Now, you climb on my back and hang on. Look, the fire's going out, but the storm is getting worse. We need to get to the cave before it becomes too dangerous."

As they began the journey down the treacherous hillside of rivulets growing into cascades and tree limbs flying in from all sides, Dayka put his mouth close to Petch's ear.

"I love you, Petch."

The youth smiled grimly. "You sure do, you little tick."

"Do you love me?"

His smile broadened. "Sometimes."


	4. Chapter 4

Dear Reader, Sorry it's taken so long to put up this chapter, but here it is. I am doing a lot of modelling the earlier Ruri'iro Kujaku (Netousho) after the Swan in Matthew Bourne's version of Swan Lake. If you've never seen it, it's really very fascinating. Adam Cooper makes an amazing male swan lead! Check it out on Youtube - but make sure you see the Adam Cooper version. No one else plays the Swan like he does. So incredibly masculine and graceful. It's how I picture Ruri'iro Kujaku. Peace, TK

Chapter 4 Netousho

" _Is your soul afraid?  
Afraid of what you've made?  
Do you know the way the spirit goes?"_

 _The Spirit  
_ Graeme Edge

Yumichika was astonished.

How could the love of a small child be so great?

For a week, he watched Dayka care for the peacock. And he watched how Dayka's love—his own love in this earlier life—was of such a measure that he wondered how anyone could ever resist anything the child asked.

No sooner had Dayka and Petch returned to the cave after the mudslide than the "little tick" began working on the hapless Petch for a bed for his wounded bird. Dayka was clever and he knew how to get what he wanted without asking. When he began pulling some of the straw from his own little sleeping area, Petch was leering over his shoulder immediately.

"What are you doing?" the older boy asked, though from the tone of his voice, it was clear he already knew the answer.

"Making a bed for him," Dayka replied without a pause in his actions.

"A bed? For a bird?"

"Like a nest," Dayka replied. "He needs to sleep somewhere."

Petch looked at the mud-covered, insensible bird which he still held clutched in his hand. "And where are you gon' get more dry straw for your own bed if you give half of it to him?"

Dayka smiled to himself, fully aware that Petch could see his grin and that the sight would melt his heart – as it always did. "I don't need so much. I'm small, you know." He turned and affected the most angelic of expressions. "But maybe—maybe while I'm making his bed, you can . . . " – such fabricated innocence and reserve - "maybe you can clean him off."

Yumichika waited to see how Petch would respond. And when that response came, Yumichika realized he'd misjudged the situation completely. Petch was not helpless against Dayka's beguiling, child-like demeanor – not at all. Nor was he driven solely by some as yet unspoken token of reciprocal duty – the relationship between the two boys was still not clear.

But the adult Yumichika could see, in a way the child Dayka could not, that every choice Petch made, every action he took, was fully of his own accord and will. If he gave in to Dayka's requests, it was because he deemed that was the best thing to do. If he let the boy run somewhat amok, again it was on account of his own reasoning and deduction. But, by the same measure, when the answer was no, the answer was no; and no amount of tantrum or tears would move him.

"You'll have plenty of time to clean him up," Petch replied. "He's not going anywhere. You go on and make him his little nest, and then _you_ can clean him up. Don't forget, he's going to need to eat, too – if he gets better. You're still going to have to go out and get food for him. He's your bird, Dayka. He's your responsibility."

"I know," Dayka replied, turning his attention back to the straw and manufacturing an admirable pout. "I just thought you'd wanna help. But I can do it all myself."

Now, it was Petch's turn to grin. He wasn't going to be made to feel pity for the boy. He knew this game oh so well. He was perfectly content to step back and let Dayka step forward.

That moment of nest-making had been a week ago.

Since then, Yumichika had watched the great tenderness and devotion Dayka had shown towards the bird, the satisfaction in his own abilities as, day by day, the bird's condition improved in ever so small increments.

He saw Dayka's industriousness, the inability to sit still for long, the child-like penchant for mischief. He also saw Petch's fondness for Dayka, his watchful eye, his silent mentoring as he let the child make mistakes then self-correct.

Lastly, he saw Dayka's absolute adoration of the older boy. Despite his attempts to manipulate Petch and cajole him into doing his will, it was clear that Dayka viewed each day in terms of a very specific certainty: the certainty that Petch would always be waiting for him. It was a security that even the presence of the peacock could not surpass. If, on any occasion, Dayka expected to see or hear Petch at a time and place, and Petch was not there, the alarm was immediately visible in Dayka's manner. And when the two finally would meet up, Dayka had no qualms about tearfully informing Petch how badly his absence had frightened him. Coming from a child, it was a scolding that was particularly cutting, and Petch never failed to offer the needed reassurances.

By day seven, the peacock was able to sit up in its tidy little nest, its attention perked by any sound or movement. Its appetite was quite ravenous, and Dayka was hardpressed to keep up with the demand. And while still weak—the bird spent most of its time sleeping—it seemed to be out of danger of dying, a fact which rankled Petch only a little, for he'd never despaired of making a fine dinner or two of the animal.

Dayka had not ceased to insist upon the bird's transformation into a man, and Petch now dismissed the story as an overactive imagination.

Or a defense mechanism, a way to regain what had been taken away from him.

"You know it's impossible for a bird to turn into a man," he said one evening during a particularly vehement argument. "I know you like to tell stories, and this is a good one; but I know it's not true. Maybe you're wishing your dad was here to protect you. Sometimes, I think you want a thing too much, Dayka. You want it so much you imagine it and think it's real."

"He didn't turn into my dad," Dayka huffed petulantly. "I _know_ what my dad looks like. This wasn't him."

"Dayka—"

"He was a man! The most beautiful man in the world! And he was hurt – just like my bird! I'm not stupid! I know what I saw." With this last assertion, he crossed his arms tightly over his chest and hunched forward with a scowl that would have surely resulted in a scolding and being sent to his room, had a parent been present.

But there was no parent. There was only Petch, and Petch was used to such moments. He was good at diffusing agitated feelings.

"I think you were seeing things, what with all the rain and the fire and it was dark out," he replied. "But it doesn't matter either way. You seem okay now, even if you keep saying crazy stuff."

Yumichika, the omniscient observer, could not help but chuckle to himself. Knowing that Petch was dead wrong and seeing the older boy's self-assured insistence that he was right was both humorous and strangely endearing. What a surprise he would get when he discovered that Dayka had been telling the truth all along!

Yumichika paused. He was assuming that Petch would eventually learn the truth about the peacock – an assumption that was, by no means, a given. The events of this past life were no more clear to Yumichika than they'd been a week and a half ago, when he'd first arrived in this place and time.

A week and half! The passage of time was barely felt in this world. Yumichika had felt no need for sleep, no hunger, no thirst. He'd spent the nights, while Petch and Dayka had been sleeping, examining the cave, getting a closer look at both boys and the peacock, wandering through the forest surrounding them . . . his freedom of movement was unlimited. He could go where he pleased, part of the scene but not part of the physical reality – if it were a physical reality at all. Was he only viewing a past life through the lens of time? Had he gone to a separate plane where this reality still existed? Or had he actually traveled back in time to witness this first encounter, but held at arm's length by some invisible barrier?

Whatever the truth, Yumichika could not deny the warmth and comfort of the place. A contentedness had settled over him, and his curiosity over how things would unfold kept him from thinking too much about returning to the outside world.

He found himself growing ever more intrigued by the peacock. Knowing that he was looking at Ruri'iro Kujaku, he was fascinated to see the bird's reactions to the goings-on and wondered what arcane thoughts were flitting through the facile mind behind the dark, observant eyes. More than once, he wished Ruri'iro Kujaku were with him to witness the scene, to tell him what he remembered about the encounter. But he knew his Atmen was otherwise occupied.

Two more days passed, and the peacock was able to teeter unsteadily a few steps this way or that. It made little sound except for the occasional quiet honking noise but never the ear-splitting cries the species was known for. It never ventured outside the cave and appeared to have warmed up to its caretaker. Dayka had even taken to allowing the peacock to sleep beside him, much to Petch's disapproval.

"If he's surprised out of sleep, he can scratch your eyes out with those claws." His warning fell on deaf ears, for Dayka was not dissuaded.

Then came the morning when Petch set out before dawn to go hunting – although it could not really be called hunting. It was more rightly called stealing. He never told Dayka exactly where he went to scrounge up the food he provided them, and he never let Dayka go with him; but Dayka had an inkling, and he thought it better not to speak of it.

On this particular morning, as soon as Dayka heard Petch leave the cave, he knew he would have the next two or three hours to himself. And he knew exactly how he was going to fill those hours.

He sat up and looked at his peacock, also woken by Petch's departure.

"Good! You're awake."

In the fading light of the fire's dying embers, the bird's feathers took on a glistening iridescence. The bright round eyes peered through the flickering half-light like two twinkling rubies. The head nestled back against the body in observation.

"Petch is gone. He'll be gone a long time," Dayka stated. "So, you can turn into the man."

Yumichika was surprised at the directness of the boy's stated intention.

The peacock was still and silent.

"Come on, I know you can do it." A pause. "I been askin' and askin', and now I think you should do it. Petch isn't here. He won't hurt you. You don't have to be afraid. Turn into the man."

Once again receiving no response, Dayka now resorted to the fallback of every child.

"Fine!" he huffed. "You don't care about me at all! I saved you and fed you and took care of you! I looked for you in the storm. I stopped Petch from eating you. If you don't want to be friends with me, that's fine!" He got up from the straw bed and stomped over to the spring where an old broken clay jar held some fresh water and a copper cup for drinking.

No sooner had he filled the cup than a warm blue-green light washed over him.

He whirled around, dropping the cup and staring in slack-mouthed awe.

The light was receding, and there on the straw where the bird had lain only seconds earlier, now lay the man Dayka had seen under the overhang in the storm.

Dayka had asked so many times for the bird to take on the form of the man, and been disappointed when his request was not granted, that he'd truly begun to believe he would never see the man again. This latest demand had been petulant and peevish, and he'd really not expected anything to come of it.

Now that he was faced with what he had asked for, he did not know how to react.

A man lay before him, stark naked—and this time not covered by the flowing abundance of hair—still showing signs of injury, silent and—Yumichika recognized what Dayka did not—demur.

The boy and the man stared at each other without moving, without speaking. It was a very long time.

Yumichika was not surprised when it was Dayka who made the first move.

"Are you cold?" he asked.

The man was silent.

"I can—I can give you my blanket, if you want," Dayka said in a shaky voice. He moved towards one end of the straw where his blanket was lying, careful to keep a cautious eye and a wide berth.

He took his blanket and held it out at arm's length. "Here. You can have it."

Still, the man regarded him in silence.

"Don't you know what a blanket is for?" Dayka asked. "It keeps you warm. And—and it's bad manners to be naked in front of strangers. You should cover up."

Yumichika smiled at the simplicity of the child. Bad manners, indeed.

But that simplicity worked, for the man reached out and took the blanket, draping it across his waist in a show of modesty that Yumichika knew was contrary to Ruri'iro Kujaku's personality. The fact that he complied with the child's request told Yumichika that Ruri'iro Kujaku was either still distrustful and weighing the situation as he went along, or just the opposite: that he truly felt something for Dayka and trusted him enough to do as he asked. It was perplexing to see a being who must know how powerful he was, yet was acting uncertain and even apprehensive in the face of a child, a child he could surely destroy with a mere touch of his finger. Injured he was, yes; but at risk from a six-year-old boy? Impossible.

Dayka hunkered down out of arm's reach and regarded him with open curiosity.

"What are you?" he asked, only to be met once more with a silent stare. "Are you a man or a bird?"

Much to both Yumichika's and Dayka's surprise, the man spoke.

"I'm not either." His voice was smooth and soft. And although Yumichika had heard his voice many, many times, he felt as if he were hearing it for the first time. "I'm an Atmen. Do you know what that is?"

And now Yumichika knew that it was not distrust or caution that had held Ruri'iro Kujaku back. It was simply that the peacock had been assessing the situation, and now he was addressing Dayka in the manner of any adult speaking to a small child.

In response to the man's question, Dayka shook his head.

Ruri'iro Kujaku replied in the most basic terms. "The Master made me to create spirits."

"Like . . . an angel?"

"Not quite as great as that." The slight smile that appeared on the peacock's face was felt by Yumichika through the removal of time, and he knew its appearance gave Dayka the confidence to pose more questions.

"What happened to you? How did you get hurt?"

The man considered for a moment. "I was in a battle with others of my kind. They were going to destroy me, so I fled to the living world and took on the form of a bird so I could hide from them."

"Why were you fighting?" Dayka asked.

"That's a long story . . . for another time."

Dayka accepted this, then followed with a related query.

"Are they still looking for you? Do they still want to hurt you?"

Again, with the maturity of an adult, Yumichika was able to discern things in that moment that were beyond Dayka's ability to see. The expression that came into Ruri'iro Kujaku's eyes, the momentary rigidity of his body, the long, pensive breaths . . . it was clear that Ruri'iro Kujaku knew he was still being hunted – and that, by allowing this child to care for him, he'd put him in harm's way as well.

"I think so, yes," he admitted.

Dayka was valiant. "I won't let them hurt you. I'll protect you." With that, in a show of his bravery – not only against the unknown assailants that might present as part of his future, but also against his own lingering fear of the being he was now facing – he edged closer and put one small hand on the man's arm. The two regarded each other for several seconds, then Dayka said resolutely, "I promise," and laid his head on the man's chest in a ritualistic manner, as if he'd been taught the action. "This seals it."

The man trembled. Never before had a created being come into such intimate contact with him. He could feel the warmth coming from the boy's cheek, but he felt another, different kind of warmth. It was an emotional warmth, immeasurable and indefinable. It made him feel pleasantly weak, as if a long-borne weight had finally been removed and his body no longer was faced with the struggle of holding up under the pressure.

He was not sure what it all meant, but as he moved his hand without conscious thought to rest on the boy's head, he noticed a faint blue-green mist rising from where their bodies met.

Yumichika, so many lives removed from the moment he was witnessing, was riveted and breathless. This was the moment Ruri'iro Kujaku had first fallen in love with him. It was remarkable that through the impenetrable and inexplicable world in which he now found himself, he was able to feel every sentiment and view the entire scenario from the outside, more than an observer yet not within the events replaying before him.

But even more incredible were the things he was learning about who Ruri'iro Kujaku really was and how their relationship had begun. He noticed things that the child of the incarnation he was now viewing had not noticed, things that would not have stood out to a six-year-old boy.

" _I fled to the living world."_

This moment was taking place in the _living world_. Ruri'iro Kujaku had been in the living world. He'd first met Yumcihika in the living world.

Not in Soul Society.

That meant it was possible for Ruri'iro Kujaku to go between the living and spirit worlds.

" _I was in a battle with others of my kind."_

A battle.

What battle was he referring to? With other Atmen? How long ago?

Yumichika had no idea what stage in the world's development coincided with the incarnation he was seeing, but he could be certain, judging from the clothing Dayka was wearing and the manner in which he spoke, that this was not anywhere near the beginning of the world. This was well after the ascendency of man.

So many questions arose in his mind regarding the timeline and history of the Atmen, the creation of the world, his own previous lives, and his relationship with Ruri'iro Kujaku through those lives.

"What's your name?" Dayka asked, his cheek still soft against Ruri'iro Kujaku's chest.

"Netousho."

Yumichika drew in a sharp breath. _Netousho._ This was the name Nelphune and the other Atmen had used to address and identify Ruri'iro Kujaku. It was his given name, before he'd taken on a zanpakuto name.

Yumichika had met Ruri'iro Kujaku _before_ he'd been placed into a zanpakuto.

"That's a weird name."

Ruri'iro Kujaku smiled. "I like it. It has a pretty sound."

Dayka sat up. "I'm Dayka."

"Yes, I know. That's what the other boy called you."

"He's Petch."

Ruri'iro Kujaku acknowledged this with a tilt of his head. "He takes good care of you. Is he your brother?"

Dayka made a funny face, as if he found the idea both revolting and humorous. "Nuh-uh! He was a tenant's son."

The man looked confused. "A . . . tenant?"

"Don't you know what a tenant is?" Dayka felt a flash of pride that he knew something his companion did not.

"I don't."

"It's someone who lives on the land and grows crops or has a herd," Dayka explained. "The owner gives him a place to live and food and all, and he works to pay back the owner for all what he gives him."

Yumichika was now the one to feel prideful. This incarnation – only a child – was bright and knowledgeable and clearly knew the tenant-owner relationship. It only followed that . . .

"My dad was the owner, and Petch's dad was his tenant. He mostly growed corn for cows. My dad had another tenant with lots of cows. My dad had lots of tenants. We were really rich."

Ruri'iro Kujaku looked bemused. "Then why are you living here in a cave in the woods?"

Here, a shadow darkened Dayka's face. "One day men came and there was a lot of fighting. They told the tenants they were free, and . . . " He stopped for a moment, then finished in a quick stream of emotionless words, " . . . they let the tenants kill my dad and my sisters and everyone else in the house. Petch and his dad took me away, but Petch's dad was hurt real bad and died soon after we came to the forest. Petch's dad had promised my dad he'd keep me safe. When he died, Petch said he'd protect me."

As he'd listened, Yumichika's pride had melted away into shock and sadness. The story, incomplete and told from a small boy's vantage point, was nevertheless moving.

Dayka went on. "I didn't know Petch too well before that. But we're good friends now. He's not afraid of anything—"

"Dayka!"

All eyes went to the entrance to the cave where Petch himself had just entered. He was carrying two empty sacks. He tossed these aside and bounded across the cave in no more than five steps, grabbed hold of Dayka's arm and pulled him away from the man. He stood, back pressed against the opposite side of the cave, holding Dayka with one hand and drawing his hunting knife with the other.

"Who are you?!" he demanded, ignoring Dayka's squirming and fussing.

"He's the man I told you about!" Dayka interjected. "See, I told you he was real!"

"Who are you?" Petch demanded again. "I'm not afraid to fight you," he warned. "You better tell me who you are!"

"He's Netousho—"

"Dayka, not now!" Petch ordered.

Dayka twisted violently free of Petch's grasp and rushed back to the man, throwing his arms around him – protecting him . . . just as he'd pledged to do.

"Dayka!" Petch shouted, his voice filled with both anger and fear. "Get back here!"

"He's my friend!" Dayka insisted. "He won't hurt us!"

"He's telling the truth." Netousho's voice was calm and measured, and it made Petch take note and listen. "My name is Netousho, and I'm not going to hurt anyone. You well know it wasn't my idea to be here, but this child has shown me kindness. I'm grateful for that."

Petch was still not convinced. "You're trying to trick us."

"I have no reason to do such a thing. Here, let me show you." He looked earnestly at Dayka. "Go to him."

Dayka hesitated a moment, then walked back to stand beside Petch, who threw a protective arm in front of him. To the stranger, Petch said, "I want you to leave."

Yumichika observed. It was a strange moment. Ruri'iro Kujaku did not answer right away. Clearly, to the kujaku, it was not such a simple decision.

After a long, heavy silence, Netousho answered, "I did not want to come, but now that I'm here, I want to stay. It's not safe for me to leave right now, and . . . I have grown fond of this boy."

Dayka's face could not have expressed greater pleasure, and when he beamed up at Petch, the older boy made a conscious decision not to look at him for fear of being swayed.

"Why isn't it safe for you to leave here? You're healing pretty well, it looks to me. And why would a grown up want to be friends with a little boy?" Petch demanded.

"I'm not a grown up. I'm not even human."

Petch sneered. "Then what are you?"

"I'm an Atmen."

Petch appeared caught off-guard. For a moment, his face was blank, as he registered what he had just heard. At length, he spoke thickly, "Then what are you doing here?"

"I'm hiding."

"I don't believe you. Atmen don't need to hide," Petch replied with a shrewd understanding in his voice. "If you're an Atmen, prove it."

A brief moment of consideration passed, then Netousho stretched out the long, slender fingers of one hand towards the fire, making the flames rise and blaze. He lowered his hand a few seconds later and the flames receded.

Petch was not impressed or convinced. "That don't prove anything. Even demons can do things like that." Feeling a bit emboldened, he took a step forward and straightened his spine to gain an inch or two. "But only Atmen can create souls. If you're really an Atmen . . . create a soul."

"We've been forbidden to do so," came the reply. "The Soul King has determined that there are enough souls already, and the balance must not be disturbed."

Petch sneered triumphantly. "I knew you weren't an Atmen. You can't create souls. What you said just now is a story you made up to cover up the truth that you're not an Atmen at all!"

"It's the truth, and I won't be goaded into creating a soul," Netousho stated. "A soul without a body can never achieve its ultimate state of perfection—"

"Oh, you can do it!" Dayka pressed excitedly. "You can create a body, too, can't you?"

Netousho shook his head. "That is one thing I cannot do. Only the Creator can provide a body. He provides only enough to house existing souls, for he honors the Soul King's decision not to create any more souls." A pause. "And even if I were willing to disobey, I'd be afraid of the consequences. I've already taken risks using my powers to transform into a peacock and back, to save your life in the storm, and just now to raise those flames. But those were indistinct uses of power – as you said, even the demons could do as much. But if I use it to create another soul, the others will detect that use of power and they'll find me. And they'll find the two of you. And in my current state, I can't protect you."

"I told you, I'll protect you," Dayka insisted, at which Netousho smiled lovingly.

"Yes, I know you will," he answered. "But my enemies are very powerful."

"Why do they want to find you?" Petch asked skeptically. "What did you do?"

Yumichika saw the expression that came over Ruri'iro Kujaku's face. There was something thoughtful and profound there, something he'd never seen before. It was a sentiment that had apparently faded over the intervening lifetimes. There was an element of uncertainty and second-guessing, yet the final disposition was one of pride.

"I obeyed."

"What, does that mean the rest of them disobeyed?" Petch pressed.

"No. There were a number of us who chose to do as we were commanded," Netousho answered. "There were many more who did not." A pause. "There is a tremendous battle going on in Soul Society right now. Not among the souls that inhabit it, but among the Atmen who have been there for countless ages carrying out their duties of creation. The Soul King commanded the Atmen to stop creating and to go into a zanpakuto form in the event we should be needed later on . . . we would be close at hand. A zanpakuto is a weapon—"

"I know what a zanpakuto is," Petch snapped. "My father told me all those stories."

"I don't know what one is!" Dayka interjected. "I want to know!"

It was Petch who answered. "Supposedly, in Soul Society, there are souls who protect it and who can also bring the souls of dead people there. They have special swords called zanpakuto, and those swords have spirits living in them."

Netousho did not bother to correct the inaccuracies, for it was a close rendition of the truth.

"Yes, and those of us who agreed to go into zanpakuto form were greatly outnumbered by those who refused. So, before any of us could even begin to search for suitable zanpakuto bodies, we had to first confront our disobedient brothers. That is the battle that rages even now."

"Then why are you here?" Petch demanded. "Why aren't you in Soul Society fighting?"

"Because I was on the verge of defeat. My lesser brothers begged me to come here to the living world, to hide and recover my strength. Of the Atmen, I am one of the most powerful; and my fallen brothers knew that. They concentrated much effort on me, and I wasn't strong enough to stand against them. So, I did as the others asked. I came here and I've been hiding out, waiting until I'm strong enough to go back . . . to whatever is left."

Petch scowled. "Coward."

"No," Netousho deferred without emotion. "Prudent."

"Prudent?"

"We all live within eternity. A soul's existence is permanent. Only the Creator can extinguish a soul. If I lose a battle here, or gain a victory there, I know there is still all of eternity for the Creator's desired outcome to take place," Netousho replied.

"What is his desired outcome?" Petch asked snidely.

"That every created being behold the beauty of his presence."

Petch stared at him in doubtful silence. "Those are just words. If you're really an Atmen, you're only going to prove it by creating a soul."

Netousho looked at Dayka who was watching him with encouraging eyes.

"You can do it," the child pressed.

Netousho knew he could it. That wasn't the question. The question was whether or not he should do it. If he created a soul, what body would he find in which to place it? Would his fallen brothers detect his use of power and come after him? The power needed to create a soul was so much greater and more distinct than his other lesser powers. And would his disobedience anger the Soul King? Or more importantly, the Creator?

Dayka skirted around Petch's down-stretched arm and went across to Netousho. Petch did not try to stop him this time.

"Please? I want to see you do it," Dayka begged, putting his arm around Netousho's neck.

"Kimi—"

Yumichika felt his heart jump at this first use of the word between him and Ruri'iro Kujaku.

"Kimi, I have no body to house a new soul," Netousho replied. "I can't create a soul and leave it to wander endlessly without a body."

Petch smiled cleverly. "You say you're one of the most powerful. Are you in the Seventh Choir?"

Yumichika was stunned. Petch appeared to know more about the Atmen than, certainly Dayka, but more than Yumichika had known before ending up in Gonow.

Netousho answered evenly, "I am."

"And the Seventh Choir can create all kinds of souls, right?" Petch pressed.

Netousho was impressed. "That is correct. You know a lot about us."

"My dad taught me. He believed in all those things. So do I. But you're going to have to prove to me you're really an Atmen before I let you stay here another night."

Netousho hid his amusement, for he was already well enough recovered that he could overpower the brazen boy; but he was pleased with Petch's sturdy heart and audacity, for what human child would think he could prevail over an Atmen?

"If I produce a body, will you create a soul for it?" Petch challenged.

"You're not going to bring the body of some dead animal, are you?"

Petch's smiled grew wiley and wicked. He went to his sleeping area, dug under the straw and withdrew a sword. Returning to stand a few cautious feet in front of his guest, he said with sufficient bluster, "You can create zanpakuto souls, if you're Seventh Choir. This is just a plain sword. You can make a zanpakuto spirit to put into it. This is the body you needed."

Yumichika saw the look on Ruri'iro Kujaku's face as an amazed smile began to form there.

The boy, Petch—Ikkaku from many lives ago—had, in fact, managed to outsmart the Atmen!

"Do it. Create a zanpakuto soul to put into this sword."

Netousho shook his head in wonder at the boy's shrewdness. "Where did you get this?"

"It was my father's. I'm sure he won't mind if you turn it into a zanpakuto."

"Zanpakuto are only for Soul Society—"

"So are Atmen," Petch interrupted. "But you're here. You can make another exception."

"The Soul King has forbid it," Netousho deferred.

"Do it this once, and you'll never have to do it again," Petch said, and he sounded much older and more experienced than the pre-teen that he was.

Petch's words did not have the power to move Netousho.

But the gentle touch of Dayka on his neck, and child's angelic voice in his ear were more than he contend with.

"Please do it," Dayka whispered. "Petch needs another friend. I'm all he has."

Netousho went eye-to-eye with him and spoke in a whisper. "Isn't he all you have?"

"No," Dayka answered. "I have you."

Netousho drew in a deep breath and looked up at Petch. "If I do this, my enemies may find us. And if they do, they'll kill you."

Petch shrugged. "Then we'll just go to Soul Society. It's not like this is a great life."

Netousho seemed somewhat sad by this last statement, and he said with sincerity, "To live at all is great enough. Don't expect that every moment will be perfect."

With that, he sat up a bit straighter.

"You want me to create a zanpakuto. Then he will be _your_ zanpakuto, born of your soul." Now, it was Netousho's turn to smile mischievously. "Don't say I didn't warn you."

He stretched out his hand.

Strands of blue-green light emanated from his fingers.

He turned his eyes, narrow and glowing azure, to scrutinize Petch. His voice echoed, deep and slow. "What inhabits your soul?"


	5. Chapter 5

**Dear Reader, Just a short chapter . . . Peace, TK**

Chapter 5 A New Creation

" _I hear the sweet, though far-off hymn  
that hails a new creation.  
Through all the tumult and the strife,  
I hear its music ringing.  
It sounds an echo in my soul."_

 _How Can I Keep From Singing  
_ Quaker Hymn

Petch's first reaction was a wide-eyed stare that narrowed into a sneer.

"What is that supposed to be?" he demanded, looking at the bizarre creature that had just materialized before him.

Yumichika recognized the beast immediately: the red fur and muscled chest, taller than any human, yet with a face of human characteristics, naked and powerful and well-endowed.

It was Netousho who replied, "He is the spirit who will give life to your zanpakuto."

"No, no," Petch shook his head. "He's a freak!"

At this, the creature smiled a wild, toothy grin and turned to face the boy whom he was expected to call master. He took two steps forward, grabbed the boy by the arms and lifted him so that they were face-to-face. "You, uh, wanna take that back, partner?"

Petch was so nervous, the sword dropped from his hand, and he hung silent in the creature's grasp.

"There's nothing freakish about him," Netousho disagreed. "He's born of your soul—"

"But you made him," Dayka spoke up, and it was clear from his voice that he was mesmerized by what he had just seen. "You really can make souls!"

"Yes, kimi, I made him, but I drew on . . . existing material. All zanpakuto derive their essence from their masters. As Atmen, we create the souls of zanpakuto, but no zanpakuto can precede its master."

"I don't understand," Dayka said, shaking his head.

"The souls of zanpakuto are created differently," Netousho explained. "Most of them are . . . seeds. Once they are paired with their master, that seed blossoms into their essence." Seeing that his words were incomprehensible to such a small child, he smiled lovingly and fell back on simplicity. "You know what an acorn is." Dayka nodded. "It's just a seed, and it looks nothing like an oak tree. But when it receives water and sunlight, it grows and starts to look like a tree. It's the same thing with zanpakuto. They start off very simple and need their masters to turn into what they are supposed to be."

Here, Petch interjected in a strained voice. "He—he doesn't look like a seed!"

Netousho drew in a long, admiring breath. "I . . . took a shortcut with him. You were right here, challenging me; and I knew he would be your zanpakuto. So, I drew what I needed from you, and now . . . here he is."

"But—but what is he? There's nothing like that inside me!"

At his, Dayka snickered, trying to hide his laughter.

"What's so funny?!" Petch barked, his voice cracking with the fear still trembling through his body.

"I like him," Dayka replied. "He reminds me of you."

"He's nothing like me!"

The creature brought Petch nose-to-nose. "You're damned right! I'm _better_ than you!" With that, he stomped over to where Netousho sat on the straw, whipped Petch around in his arms and held him out like a rag doll towards the Atmen. "You're saying you made me from _this_?"

Netousho's reaction was calm and dulcet. "I did, and you should be more appreciative. I didn't have to create you at all."

Yumichika heard the words Ruri'iro Kujaku was speaking, but it was the look on the peacock's face, the soft adoration in his eyes, that gave away what was really happening. Yumichika could see it as plain as day.

Netousho—Ruri'iro Kujaku—was completely enraptured with the being he had just created.

The creature tossed Petch aside as if he were flicking water off his wrist and lowered closer to get a good look at the strange and beautiful man who appeared completely unintimidated by him.

"If you hadn't created me, you'd have missed out on creating a masterpiece," the creature said in a thick, heavy voice, laden with challenge.

Netousho gave a slight nod and barely perceptible grin. "I won't disagree with you. You are . . . magnificent."

The being looked both puzzled and perturbed – annoyed. "What the hell are you, anyway?"

"I'm an Atmen—"

"Yeah, I heard you say that, but what does it mean?" came the impatient interruption.

"It _means_ . . . " Netousho dragged the word out for emphasis, " . . . that I am stronger right now in my weakness than you will ever be at the height of your greatness."

The creature scowled. "You don't look so strong."

Netousho was placid. "I have enough power even now to bring this entire mountain down on top of us. I have enough power to wreak havoc in this world and beyond." A pause. "But to fight my fallen brothers . . . they would be able to destroy me in an instant." He fixed the creature with a piercing stare. " _That's_ how powerful my kind is."

"Then why did you need Dayka's help?" This from Petch, who'd recovered his courage but was still keeping a safe distance from both beings. "You were hurt badly when he found you, and I could have killed you—"

"Yes, I was hurt badly," Netousho replied. "But it's in my nature to regain my energy quickly. I left the battle before I was made so weak that I could never recover. Not all my brothers were so fortunate." He turned his gaze towards Dayka. "This boy helped me do what I needed to do: stay hidden while I regained some of my strength. I _still_ need to stay hidden. I wouldn't stand a chance against other Atmen right now." He looked suddenly pensive and filled with self-reproach. "And what I just did by creating you . . . that was a prideful reaction to the goading of a child. And it could mean the destruction of us all."

His creation straightened up and his expression changed. "It would be worth it . . . just for the chance to have existed at all."

Netousho was transfixed. "That's an amazing thing to say."

"I'm an amazing thing."

"Yes, I think you are."

The creature took a long, hard look at his own body. "What am I, anyway?"

"A dragon," Netousho replied.

"A dragon!"

"Yes, that's what I found inside his soul. The spit and fire of a dragon. Courage and fearlessness. And . . . hardheadedness."

"I like the sound of that," the dragon said, puffing up his chest. "What's my name? I gotta have a name, don't I?"

At this, Netousho deferred to Petch. "He's the one who must name you."

And even though Yumichika expected Petch to back away from the task, he was pleasantly surprised when the boy, in a very Ikkaku-like moment, grinned wryly and in a droll voice, noted, "Huh, you look like a demon . . . a demon dragon."

The dragon was clearly pleased with this comparison. "Demon Dragon. I like it."

"Hoozukimaru," Petch nodded.

"Hoozukimaru."

At that moment, Yumichika suddenly had a strong inclination that he needed to return to the maroon room. It was not a summons – not a verbal or even a sensory one – but a certainty placed so deep within him that he did not question it even for an instant.

He needed to get back to Ruri'iro Kujaku.

But how?

Jumping into this ocean of the past had been easy enough – well, relatively speaking. But how did one jump out of it?

He called out in his mind, not knowing if he'd be heard.

"I don't know how to get back to you! What do I do?!"

No response was forthcoming.

He moved out of the cave, leaving the entertaining images of this life behind him.

"Ruri'iro Kujaku!" he shouted out loud.

Still nothing.

He wasn't panicked – not yet. He had some thoughts on how he might get back, but the one thing weighing on his mind was whether or not Ruri'iro Kujaku was alright. Despite knowing that he needed to return, Yumichika had no idea why he'd suddenly been convicted of the necessity. Had something happened to the peacock? Was Ruri'iro Kujaku in danger? Was _he_ in danger, and Ruri'iro Kujaku had sent him some kind of wordless message?

He moved several yards off into the forest and sat down to concentrate. Maybe if he tried to use the same method he used to enter his inner world. . . .

He sat down cross-legged and closed his eyes, concentrated with whatever focus he could muster . . .

Behind his closed eyelids, colors began flying past as such speed, he could not discern the images they comprised; yet he was in no doubt that he was passing up through other previous lives. It seemed only reasonable . . . even logical. And it had not taken much effort to get him moving. This voyeurism he had discovered was fluid and easy to move through. But did he have the control to insert himself wherever he pleased? And was it even a good idea to be delving into these past lives? Was he doing some sort of irreparable harm to himself, Ruri'iro Kujaku, the past itself? He'd only been an observer . . .

. . . but was the past meant to be observed?

He almost laughed as he moved through the swirling vortex. This wasn't merely _the past_ ; these were _past lives_. How many lives, he did not know. But as his speed seemed to increase, he felt a certain squeamishness puttering around in his stomach; and just when he thought he would not be able to hold it down any longer, the movement stopped.

He was back on the cliff overlooking the sea. It roared and hissed below him as if he'd never even transgressed its angry surface. Now, he set off on his way back to the maroon room, and he could not deny that his anxiety increased the nearer he drew. He began to berate himself for staying so long in his previous life. If any ill had befallen Ruri'iro Kujaku in his absence, he would never forgive himself.

He stopped just outside the shifting walls of the room and peered inside.

Ruri'iro Kujaku lay exactly as Yumichika had left him. Only the blue-green halo surrounding his body had faded to barely visible. Yet, he did not appear to be in any distress.

Yumichika approached him slowly. He wanted to take his time, to look upon a beauty he had not seen in this world since . . . when was the last time he and Ruri'iro Kujaku had been here together? It was before the battle of the demons . . . before he had left the Gotei 13. And if he allowed himself to be honest, that last visit together had been many years coming, for he'd shut off Ruri'iro Kujaku from the day he'd joined the Gotei 13 . . .

Here was a long-yearned-for opportunity to indulge the image of perfect beauty in the place where they had first met. And given what Yumichika had just observed regarding their first-ever meeting, however many lifetimes ago, he found himself looking upon Ruri'iro Kujaku with a greater love and sense of awe than he'd ever felt before.

He only wished . . .

He only wished that he'd been able to spend more time in that earlier life.

He lay down beside his beautiful peacock and pressed close. Just the feeling of being next to him was soothing – something that was usually not the case with Ruri'iro Kujaku, as he tended to incite desire and could easily be labeled quite the fuss-budget under normal circumstances.

At length, Yumichika conceded that it was time to leave his inner world. "I guess we should get back," Yumichika whispered. "I hope this works." He pushed up onto his elbows and laid down on top of Ruri'iro Kujaku, sinking against him just as he had when they had entered this world.

The blue-green light intensified . . .

The cold told him, even before he'd opened his eyes, that he was back in the cottage, back in the throes of winter, back in the present.

In the hearth, a fire was still burning.

That meant the passage of time in the previous life did not translate to the same passage of time here – if, indeed, anytime had passed.

Yumichika touched a careful fingertip to his Atmen's cheek. "Ruri'iro Kujaku?"

After a few seconds, the peacock's eyes opened, and a smile formed on his lips.

"We were able to enter?" It was part question, part statement.

Yumichika nodded once. "Yes."

"I thought so, but I . . . I lost you, and I didn't want to risk . . . closing the door," Ruri'iro Kujaku said in a weary voice. He paused a long moment, then added, "I'm still very weak. The fact that we were able to enter . . . I couldn't have done that without your energy."

Yumichika smiled lovingly at him. "I could feel that I needed to come back to you. Are you alright?"

"Yes, I'm just . . . "

"You've never been quite this weak before, have you?"

"You don't have to remind me," the kujaku feigned a pout.

" _It was your weakness that brought you to me that first time,"_ Yumichika mused silently. _"I've seen it now with my own eyes. And now, here it is again. Your weakness is bringing you back to me."_ It struck him as ironic. _"When you're at your weakest . . . our love is at its strongest."_

It was a bold and impudent conclusion to draw, given Yumichika had only witnessed one short moment in one previous life. But it was the conclusion he came to, and it made him feel . . . needed and responsible.

"I wasn't trying to offend you," Yumichika assured him. "I just meant that . . . you've always been so powerful and now you . . . you need time to recover." He tried to act nonchalant. "But you've always recovered quickly. Aren't Atmen created to recover quickly? Isn't that part of your being?"

Ruri'iro Kujaku eyed him curiously. "I suppose so. I really don't know." A pause. "Where did you go? I couldn't feel you at all."

"I went all over," Yumichika replied. "I went to the cave of the peacocks, the ice and fire caves, the cliffs—"

"The shrine?" Ruri'iro Kujaku interrupted.

Yumichika hesitated. "Yes, the shrine." He sighed but was careful not to be too melodramatic. He knew how emotional his peacock could be. "It's still destroyed, but the flower mosaic is still alive." He went on quickly with the intention of not giving Ruri'iro Kujaku the chance to ruminate into sadness. "The lake in the peacock cave was still too low for me to see the surface, but I could hear it filling with water – it sounded like a hundred gushing rivers filling it up from the bottom. And—and there were two peacocks there. They're coming back, Ruri'iro Kujaku. You're doing it. Somehow, you're doing it."

Ruri'iro Kujaku allowed the flattery to settle on him. He didn't need it, but it was nice to know his master cared enough to try and keep him happy.

Yet, he was not so easily duped. He knew fast-talking when he heard it, and no diversion would he mistake for earnest commentary. His master was attempting to divert his attention, and he wanted to know why.

"I think I must be even weaker than I realized, because I never would have expected that I suddenly wouldn't be able to sense your presence," he tossed out, hoping for an explanation.

For the truth was that Ruri'iro Kujaku had no idea of what was concealed in the depths of the ocean. He had never been able to break the plane of the cliffs. He could not even draw near the surface – only fly over it. He had no reason to even suspect that the vast expanse of sea had anything to do with his master's inexplicable absence. As far as he was concerned, the anomaly was a complete mystery, and the ocean had not even come into consideration.

But the savvy peacock knew that his master was withholding something from him.

The question was, how far dare he go in his pursuit?

As for Yumichika, he was not yet married to the idea of withholding the truth from Ruri'iro Kujaku. He just wasn't sure if he _should_ tell him. What if the peacock were hiding something from him in those depths, and he then refused to help him reenter his inner world for fear of discovery? Or perhaps, Ruri'iro Kujaku would be jealous of Yumichika's ability to go where he could not. Or, what if it were, in fact, the case that by revisiting those previous lives, somehow damage was being done . . . to someone, some place, some thing . . . and Ruri'iro Kujaku determined that the damage must be stopped?

Yumichika felt _almost_ ashamed of himself. This was Ruri'iro Kujaku, one of the greatest of all created beings, loving and protective, utterly devoted to him, and . . . greatly detached from his history and his place as an Atmen. Damn, he hadn't even recalled that he was an Atmen until a few months ago! The passage of time and lives, coupled with his own obedience to his Maker, had dulled his memory and hidden the true vastness of his power from him. And yet, here he was, finding a passage for Yumichika to return to his inner world; still, Yumichika was balking at the idea of telling him what he'd found.

So much had been taken from the Azure Peacock through eternity. Did Yumichika really think it was his part to attempt to restore everything he'd lost? It seemed that it must have been the Creator's intent that the Atmen should fade, not only in the memory of men, but in their own memories. They would reduce themselves to mere zanpakuto, implements in the hands of their human masters. To exhibit such humility, they would have to forget their own greatness.

Would sharing the discovery of past lives do harm or good?

Yumichika stared at him, dumbfounded by the fact that the stunning creature he'd beheld in a previous life only moments earlier, was here before him, unchanged in essence . . . here was a piece of eternity different from the sort of immortality found in a human soul. And in a strange way, Yumichika felt he'd been entrusted with his protection. Certainly, that's how Dayka had viewed the situation . . .

What constituted protection wasn't always so clear, however.

"Maybe, as you grow stronger, you'll be able to go with me," he finally offered, knowing this was no explanation at all and even a feeble attempt at evasion. "Then you won't have to worry about . . . losing me."

Ruri'iro Kujaku recognized the gentle put-off, and he accepted it.

For the moment.

He was tired and drained. And at the moment, all he wanted was to feel his master's body against his.

"Stay with me," he said. "I'm—I need to rest, and I want you to stay with me."

Yumichika smiled. "I will."


End file.
